Penny Dreadful: The Secrets of the Demi Monde
by martykate
Summary: Penelope is a talented young medium, drawn Ethan Chandler when they meet at the London Zoo. Penny senses Ethan's secret & lets him know that she is willing to help, if he will let her. Her friendship with Dorian Grey makes him hesitant, but he is desperate to find a way to deal with his werewolf curse. Story is doing well on Wattpad and Archive, please give it a chance! New Title!
1. The Wild Wild West Show

Ethan Chandler found himself drawn to London zoo, as if by an unseen force. In truth he would rather have stayed away after the incident with the wolves. Those wolves knew his secret—maybe—and though the pathetic creatures who sat in the cage might not, he would rather not have taken the chance.

But the tall, handsome American found himself being dragged, unwillingly, towards the cage. He didn't like the zoo, did not like to see the animals in cages, though the wolves seemed to hold some morbid fascination for him. So he gave in, let himself be pulled along, as he had been pulled into the world of Vanessa Ives and Professor Malcolm Murray.

There was a woman standing in front of the wolf enclosure. Totally unafraid she stood there, observing, speaking softly to them in a language he did not understand. And the wolves seemed calm, soothed by her presence, not even reacting when she went down on her knees in front of the cage, as fascinated by them as they were by her.

"I wouldn't stand too close there, ma'am, they're dangerous animals." He watched as she stood up, dusting her hands on her skirt.

"Perhaps I am dangerous, too," she replied, "If I had a rifle I would certainly be a danger to them, but as you can see, I do not. I would not kill them anyway," she lowered her voice, "They are beautiful animals, perhaps the most beautiful of all the mammals, with the exception, perhaps, of the cheetah." She raised her eyes to his, "Do you think I should be afraid? And it's not ma'am, it's miss."

She fixed her eyes on him. They were grey, without a trace of blue. Steel grey, the eyes of a killer, he reminded himself. Jesse James and Billy the Kid had had steel grey eyes, so had the Earp brothers. Her eyes would be sharp, have better vision than most. He wondered, idly, if she had ever handled a gun. With those eyes, she had the potential to be a sharp shooter, as he had been. A gun would not faze her; she seemed to possess no fear.

"I think, miss, that the absence of fear is an excellent quality for one to possess, as long as it is not tainted by carelessness." He was studying her now, she was Vanessa's height, her hair not quite so dark as Vanessa's, but she seemed to have a softness Vanessa did not possess. She was smiling at him now, a smile not forced but truly genuine

"Would you like to accompany me as I walk through the zoo?" she asked, "I am perfectly at ease being by myself, but sometimes I grow tired of the stares. I suppose it is seeing a woman alone who is therefore not quite a lady. I like to think I have liberated myself from that, but the stares often make me want to say or do something I would regret. And I think you might make pleasant enough company." She held out her hand to him, waiting. "And I would like to hear some of your exploits from the Wild West show—oh yes, I recognize you. I might even have seen you once."

This caught him off guard. He blushed as he remembered the exploits that went on behind his wagon after the show. There was sympathy in her eyes as she watched him, and it bothered him because he found himself suddenly feeling ashamed, even if that now seemed a lifetime ago.

"Or not, if you prefer," she said quickly, but he held his arm out to her. She took his, and he felt something pass through him, like a jolt of electricity. She looked him, "Are you frightened?" her eyes seemed ask.

They strolled, in companionable silence, not really stopping to look closely at the animals, until they came to the cage that housed a pair of cheetahs. He would have continued on, but she stopped him, an intense look of concentration on her face.

"Did you know that these are the fastest animals on earth?" She examined his face. "They have relatively small jaws and hunt mainly antelopes. Their burst of speed is amazing, but short, and they are weak compared to lions and leopards, and often lose their prey to them. They are simultaneously beautiful, deadly, and weak. Like all predators, perhaps twenty percent of their cubs survive. They're my favorite of the big cats, I love them."

The cheetah snarled as he looked at him, but he caught a glimpse of the beauty she obviously saw. "You are the strangest woman I've ever seen. The things you say, the things you seem to know. Where did you learn these things?"

"I know lots of things, Ethan Chandler." She pulled back from him and took his hand, "Shall I tell you about you? About what you're running from, what you try to keep secret, why you make no place your home for long?"

"How do you know this?" he whispered hoarsely.

"It is written on your face. Your hand tells me even now as I hold it. Don't worry, Ethan, I have no reason to expose you, why should I?" Her gloveless hands took hold of his. "Do you want to know why I never wear gloves? I'll tell you why, but you may not like the answer"

"I find myself in need of food; would you care to accompany me? There is an excellent tea shoppe not far from here. It is far too long until eight o'clock and dinner. Please say you'll come!"

The switch to coquette was made so suddenly he did not know what to think, but let himself be drawn along, as he had been since he met her. The proprietress seemed to know her, and set a generous repast in front of them, and he wondered how he would pay for it.

"Don't worry about that," she said, reading his mind, "My income, though not generous, can more than cover this. Breakfast and dinner is included in the cost of the rent my brother and I pay for our rooms, but for lunch and tea we are on our own. It does give me an excuse to eat here, it would be impossible for me to cook in my room; I do miss cooking."

"Miss, isn't it about time you told me your name? I've spent a whole afternoon with you. It seems that you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are." He looked at her, his grey eyes staring straight into hers, and watched a smile curl her lips.

"I do suppose that would be fair. My name is Penelope Von Bulow. My brother, Gregory, is a doctor at the London charity hospital. We are displaced aristocrats, if you will. My parents could not keep up with the taxes, and after they died we were forced to sell what remained of the estate. To some rich Americans, I might add. We took what we wanted from the house, and left the rest. There wasn't much remaining after the tax bill was paid, but it's sufficient for what we need—and what we need isn't a lot."

"I write stories for the 'penny dreadfuls', under my brother's name, of course. There is an antiquated prejudice against women authors—especially ones who write horror stories. And I publish in other magazines and periodicals. I make just enough money to supplement my income, and my brother's salary so we can afford separate rooms. We live in a building where many artists and writers rent flats. The company is gay and entertaining. If I am no longer 'Miss Von Bulow', I can still be Miss Penelope. I like my life."

"Well, you're the first woman writer I've ever met, or the first who owned to being one. I don't know if I could keep up with you, Miss Penelope, but I'd like to give it a try." He reached out and took her hand, "I am aware of the reputation I used to have, but I promise you, I am no longer that person. I'd like to get to know you much better."

"Even if you knew I was a virgin?" She laughed at the look on his face, "Don't worry, I'm not waiting for a husband. Say, rather, that I am looking for a sign, for someone I deem worthy. I seek companionship only, I promise you."

He walked her back to where she kept her rooms. "Shall I invite you up, Mr. Chandler? Would I be safe?"

"No," he said, and pulled her close to him, not caring that they were in public. When he kissed her, she did not resist, but seemed to surrender to him. That perplexed him; this was not the manner of a virgin.

"Come," she said, pulled him through the front door. They climbed four stairways until they reached her flat, and he was not prepared for what he saw.

It was as though he had stepped into a pasha's den. A red Turkish carpet, fringed with gold covered the floor. A round table was covered with a cloth like a tapestry, and the chairs around it had cushions of crimson. A sofa and chair of the same color, picked with gold embroidery sat against an opposite wall, an ebony table next to the sofa held an elaborately decorated oil lamp. The carpet and cushions matched velvet curtains, pulled back with cords that revealed lacy curtains covering the glass.

A large walnut bookcase, filled with books, stood against the wall. Next to it was a smaller one, filled with curiosities. A large crystal ball sat on an ornate iron stand, reflecting the light coming in from the window. On a piece of blue velvet lay a crystal pendulum on a silver chain. Boxes of tarot cards and occult books lined a shelf, while another held bottles of oil and jars of dried herbs. A multitude of stones, quartz, rose quartz, lapis, malachite, hematite, jasper, amethyst lay carelessly scattered on the shelves.

"Memories of days gone past," she murmured, "I took what furniture I wanted, but only what I could use. I took my bed, and linens, but left so much behind. I have learned how one can make do with what you think you need. I sold half of my wardrobe and find I don't feel deprived. Though sometimes I do miss my old life," she sighed.

"What is all this stuff, Miss Penelope?" Ethen went over and began picking up stones, smelling oil and candles, gazing with great curiosity at the crystal ball.

"The tools of my trade, Mr. Chandler." She came and stood beside him, "I have been cursed with knowledge of the past, present, and future, though I am blessed and I am not cursed like Vanessa Ives. I told you I knew what you were, didn't I? I can take pity on your plight, but I am helpless to do anything about it. I can nurture you before or after it comes, I can perhaps even make the memories go away, if you want. But I can't break the curse, no matter how much I want to. I will do all I can to help you, if you will let me."

"Can you make me forget right now?" he whispered, and she took him by the hand and led him to the crimson sofa. She pushed him gently down, then kneeling between his legs, began to undo his trousers.


	2. Joys and Regrets

Ethan Chandler woke with a start, not recognizing the room lit only by a dying candle. A panic like that which overcome him when he woke after his transition ended—until he saw the figure lying next to him on the bed, breathing softly. Then he remembered where he was.

He left the room and went into the sitting room, struck a lucifer and lit a candle. He dressed quietly, not wanting to disturb her, wanting to leave unhindered, but a voice came out of the darkness saying:

"Next time, Ethan, wake me up. I'd like to tell you goodbye before you left." Penelope came into the room, a shawl draped over her lawn nightgown. She sat primly on the sofa, "You don't need to worry about anything where I'm concerned. I'm here for you, if you need me, and I think you will be needing me. You're welcome here any time you like, you know."

"What if you have company?" He smiled in spite of himself.

She picked up his hat, and placed it on his head, exactly where he would have put it.

"Well, I'll tell them that you and I have urgent business, and send them on their way."

He laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. "You really do puzzle me, Miss Penelope, you remind me a little of Vanessa—only a Vanessa who knows how to laugh." He paused remembering Brona and her ready laughter, wishing for a moment that she was standing there.

But she wasn't. The woman who stood there was full of life, happy, not angry or fighting feelings of inferiority. Like him, she had known what it was to come down in life, but she had risen above it. She was too good for him, they both knew it, but somehow they fit. She saw something within him that was worthwhile, worth saving; he hadn't felt that way in a long time.

"Full moon coming soon, in less than a week. If you want my help, you'll have to let me know. What little I can do for you, I will."

"What can you do for me?" He looked intently into her eyes.

She put her hands on his shoulders. "I can help to minimize the damages. Not eliminate, but maybe reduce the impact. God, I hate this curse, I've tried to break it before with no luck. Don't be afraid to let me help, I know far more than you realize. Be here early in the afternoon, on the first day of the full moon. I'll let you know what I have planned." She kissed him swiftly on the lips, "Now go before I ask you to reciprocate the favor I did for you again. I'm sorely tempted as it is."

He tipped his hat and kissed her, then let himself out the door. Once on the sidewalk, he stared up at the sky. Barely seven days, he thought, if that. Less than seven days of freedom. He did not want to think of that, not right now, he chose instead to think of the woman whose bed he had shared.

She was a virgin only in fact. He had enjoyed her-thoroughly. The precious virginity that she held onto had come close, more than once, to being lost. With that one exception, she had allowed him everything. Even with the limitation she had put on their lovemaking, he intended to enjoy her again, soon. A lack of inhibitions was one thing he truly enjoyed in a lover, and Penelope Von Bulow seemed to possess few. What would one call her-a "New Woman", and if she was the future of womanhood, he was all for it.

He wanted to go back and get in her bed. She'd allow him, he knew that, but for now it was not a good idea. By common consent they had taken things only so far—though farther than he'd dreamed she'd permit. Right now, if he went back, he would not be able to stop himself. He was hungry for her, hungrier still for the forbidden fruit just beyond his reach

He looked up at the sky, trying to find the moon. The moon was his protector and his tormentor. Two days a month he lived in hell, more if there was a blue moon. It had been this way for too many years now. He no longer knew who to blame, himself or the moon. He was its slave now, and it would never let go. He could not break the curse, it would hold him forever.

It was a weary walk to his rooms, but he needed it. He collapsed onto his bed, falling into a blissful, dreamless sleep. Drink and sleep were his friends. Danger, too, anything that would occupy his mind and let him forget. Maybe Vanessa Ives had been a gift from the gods.

When he woke, he washed his face, changed his shirt and put on his jacket and coat. He ambled down the stairs, seeing strangers coming out of Brona's room, and wondering why. When he asked the bartender, he was told that Brona had taken a turn for the worse during the night and taken to the wing of the charity hospital that housed the patients dying of consumption.

"I didn't even get to tell her goodbye," he thought, and slapped a five pound note on the bar, and took a bottle of cheap whisky and began to drink.

Late in the afternoon, Victor Frankenstein showed up at the tavern. "There you are, you cheap American drunk. Professor Murray and Vanessa Ives have been waiting for you, and here you sit, drunk as a lord."

"Get out of here and leave me alone, Frankenstein. I'm not known for keeping my temper when I'm drunk. So get your little pansy ass out of here and let me be. Go rob a grave, steal a corpse and cut it open, anything, just get away from me before I kill you."

"That's a very good idea, Victor, maybe you should take his advice, though if he wouldn't face hanging for killing you, that's what I'd recommend. You serve no useful purpose, only your ego convinces you otherwise."

Chandler looked around, bleary eyed. He thought he saw Penelope standing beside him, Dorian Grey at her side. Only it couldn't be, could it? It must be the whisky, how would she have known how to find him?

"Ethan," he recognized the voice and the scent of Dorian Grey. "We want to take you away from here. Will you come with us?"

Chandler pushed him away. "Go away, you're not real. You're in my head, stop tormenting me."

Then he saw, through the fog of alcohol, Penelope kneeling beside him. She took his hand and put it to her cheek. "I'm real, Ethan, can you feel me? You need to leave here. You'll have a bad hangover tomorrow, but if you keep drinking like you are you may get alcohol poisoning. You're about to get into a fight, and it's best if you walk away. I'll go tell Vanessa and the professor not to expect you, and let them know why."

"How did you know, Penelope, how? " He rubbed her cheek, feeling the soft, smooth skin. "How did you know how to find me? How could you have known?"

"My curse, remember. Now please, my love, let us help you, for if I do not get out of this place, I may wind up killing Frankenstein myself."

Chandler was a big man, but somehow they managed to get him into Dorian Grey's carriage. He let his head drop onto her shoulder, and she held onto him protectively.

"How do you know Dorian Grey?" he asked, oblivious to the face that he sat in the seat opposite his. Resting his head on her seemed to relieve the reeling in his head.

"We're old friends, and he owes me a few favors." She looked up at Dorian and smiled. We're taking you to his house to put you to bed and let you sleep this off. When you wake up, I am going to feed you foul tasting brews, but they'll take your hangover away—most of it anyhow. You're going to hate me right now, but you'll feel better tomorrow."

He passed out again during the ride to Dorian's house, but butler came and helped manhandle Ethan into the house. They pulled off jacket, coat, and vest, and removed his boots. He passed out before they even finished, dreaming frightful alcohol dreams, seeing images of Brona and monsters intermingling.

Penelope closed the door behind her. Dorian came up to her from behind and laid his lips on her neck. "He'll be out for several hours, why not let me entertain you? You were always the most delightful of playmates."

She pulled away from him, pushing him playfully away. "We agreed not to do that anymore, remember? After this, we'll be even, you won't owe me anything. Now, I'm going to my flat to pick up the things I need, then I'll be back. Please have your cook fix some food for Ethan when he comes to."

He put his hands on her waist. "You're delicious, how can I refuse you? You must come and do sittings at my next party—it's never a bore if you're there."

"And you get bored so easily! Just promise me that it won't be an orgy—I hate them. I'd rather do floating tables and trumpets. I wish people would stop expecting parlour tricks at a séance. I like it better when they want their cards read, that's usually easy and relatively drama free. I'm going now, please leave Ethan alone, he won't be any good to you anyway in the state he's in."

She returned an hour or so later, laden with packets of herbs and treats she'd promised him. "Look," she said, and held up a packet containing little brown cubes, "That perfumed hashish that you love, and the belladonna tincture for your insomnia. I've got comfrey, black willow bark, and peppermint for Ethan. I don't know why it cures hangovers, but it does. I brought extra for you."

Dorian leaned over her, "Are you going to try to rescue him?"

"Stop staring down my bodice, Dorian," she said, "And no, I'm not, he has to do that himself. All I'm going to do is get rid of his hangover, and maybe find out why the drinking binge. I know there's a reason, I'd like to try to get him to talk."

Dorian went and stretched out on a recaumier. "You need to quit reading Freud, dear, it's keeping you from being as much fun as you used to. Maybe he's better off not talking, maybe he won't want to."

"Oh, he talks, all right. It's unusual, but he talks. And you've unburdened yourself to me more than once."

"That, my dear, is because you are the only person I really like to talk to. You're my Freud, my interpreter of dreams. Not everyone has a witch for a friend to take advantage of. Two hundred years ago you'd be burned at the stake."

"And so would you, for being such a libertine. You'd be condemned for less than half of the things you've done. But everyone should have at least one thoroughly corrupt friend, and you're mine. Now, will you please smoke some of that hashish with me? Maybe if I got stoned I'd feel so tempted by the memories of how much fun we used to have together."

Dorian smiled, that heartbreaking smile so unique to him, "Well, remember you had your chance, and if you don't take advantage of my offer, you have only yourself to blame."

Ethan was dreaming that he was running from a monster that had Brona's face. He didn't even know if the monster was a threat, only that he wanted to run.

He woke up, his stomach heaving and his head pounding. He started to retch, and didn't realize someone was holding a bowl for him to be sick in. It seemed he could not stop throwing up, but when he finished, his head was spinning, and he stomach was burning and the pain was unbearable.

"Drink this," he heard a woman's voice, and she lifted a cup to his lips and would not remove it until he emptied the contents. He became immediately sick again, and but she made him drink another cup, and that seemed to settle him. The spinning eased, his head was starting to feel better, and his stomach no longer burned.

He looked up and saw Penelope standing there, no anger or disapproval on her face. She lay her fingers on his forehead and was satisfied he had no fever. "You'll feel better in a little while. Maybe a little sick, but better. You were having nightmares all night, neither Dorian nor I were able to sleep. If you have to drink, don't drink so much. I don't want to have to do this again if I can help it." She sat down, and looked at him for a moment. "What happened?" she asked simply.

"I didn't get to tell someone goodbye, She's dying in the charity hospital of consumption. They even cleaned out her room at the tavern, that's how bad it is. We needed to talk, to settle things, to say the things we should have. I thought I was in love with her." He looked up at her, a wreck, but still beautiful, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked, "For feeling so much grief for someone you cared for? These things happen, Ethan, it's part of life. We all have our demons, now I know more of yours. You don't know mine, but maybe someday you will." She leaned over him and kissed his forehead, "But I'm here, and I'm alive. I don't mind if you mourn her, I'd worry more if you didn't. Now, try to sleep and I'll have a meal ready for you when you wake up. And Ethan, I think we need each other, it was no accident that we met." With a swish of her skirts she left the room, leaving him to ponder the words she had said to him.


	3. Full Moon

**This has turned out to be longer than I planned, but I wanted to tell the whole story as I conceived it. I think this is the longest chapter I've ever posted for a story.**

Chapter 3: Full Moon

Ethan slept, the peaceful sleep of the dead, if the dead sleep. His sleep this time was free of dreams, when he woke could not remember dreaming, only sleep.

He felt better, as she had promised, but as she warned he could still feel the effects of his hangover. He held out his hands, looked at them shaking, and shoved them under the covers. He did not know yet if he wanted the alcohol to kill him.

There was a knock and the door and Penelope came in, carrying a large tray. There slices of good roast beef, potatoes, baby peas and carrots. Best of all was the pot of coffee, fragrant and strong. "If I can feel hungry like this, I must be better," he thought.

"Eat, Ethan, please," Penelope begged him, "There's plenty more where this came from. You need to eat and build up your strength. You have no idea just how sick you were, if you had drunk too much more whisky, you wouldn't be sitting here now. The herb mixture I gave you helped to get the poison out of your system, but you could just as easily have passed out on the floor of the tavern, and found yourself dying in the street."

He grabbed her hand, "Thank you, I mean it. I owe you and Dorian."

She covered his hand with hers. "Yes, you do owe us. And you're going to owe me even more. So eat, your body needs to be strong, not weakened by an alcohol binge. Leave the tray on the table when you're done. If you need me, ring for me"

"About the…" he began, but she cut him off.

"Not now, right now you're just to get your strength back. And walls have ears, Ethan, I remember the servants eavesdropping on us at home. You can't afford that. Be patient, you'll find out what I have planned. She bent and kissed his forehead, then left him alone.

"Thanks for nothing," he muttered, but began to dig into his meal.

They had lost valuable time, she thought, but what did she expect? Ethan probably approached each day with dread, knowing that when the full moon came he would be changed into a creature that blindly killed and destroyed. What she meant to do for him was a desperation measure, the help it provided would be meagre at best, but gambling on something that might help was better than taking no risk and doing nothing. She'd done this for someone once before.

She remembered the "Mama", the voodoo queen she had consulted in New Orleans to see if there were a way to break the curse. The woman had laughed at her, but when she'd increased the amount of money she'd placed on the table, the woman had informed her that only the originator of the curse could remove it. And that the curse was passed from father to son to son to son. The only way it could be stopped was by the younger son taking the curse on his shoulders, removing it from a father or an older brother.

And the curse itself? It's origins were lost in time. In New Orleans it was the curse of the "loup garou", she hadn't known what they called it in Europe, but the gypsies were said to cast it. God himself only knew how they learned how.

She went into Ethan's room to see if he'd eaten. His empty tray had been placed on the table—there were no leftovers. Good, she thought, tomorrow he'd discover that his hangover was gone, no nausea, no headache.

He looked up and smiled at her, and patted the bed, beckoning her to him. Oh no you don't, she thought, I can read your thoughts, your intentions are crystal clear. She took a chair and set it next the bed.

"I have a place I'm going to take you," she began, "It's full of deserted warehouses, populated only by transients and people who are hiding for reasons of their own—but not many and none who will be missed.. I'm going to give you some laudanum to take when you feel the transition coming on—it'll relax you and lessen the pain. I know you'll roam, you may even come uptown, but it will take you a while. With any luck, you'll spend the length of your transition there. I know it's not much," she said apologetically, "but it worked for someone I knew."

"You mean you knew," he said, but she cut him off.

"Yes, I did, but he's dead, he was killed. That's the beauty of where I'm taking you. No one will look because no one cares. It's sad, but it's true. Only society's dregs hide there, and no one cares about them. They're alive but they're hardly living."

"Ethan, I can't pretend I understand any of this. A vampire can live the appearance of a normal life. They don't turn into mindless monsters during the full moon. They keep the appearance of humanity. I can't lock you up, chains won't hold you, so I'm going to hide you. What you do between moonrise and sunrise is beyond my control, as it is yours. I see the guilt in your face, you hate yourself for what you do, but listen to me, there are people who never transition into that creature who are far worse than you are. You do what you do because you can't help it, they can."

He held out his arms, gathered her into them. She hurt for him, she grieved for him, she felt his pain as surely as he did. He wanted to push her away, tell her he wasn't worth destroying herself over, but it wouldn't change things.

"I have to go find Dorian," she told him and left the room.

"He's not worth destroying yourself," Dorian told her, as if he had heard Ethan's thoughts. "You should learn to turn yourself off, like I have. I'm your friend, Penelope, I've seen what it's done to you. You go around trying to save people at the cost of saving yourself, like there's something in you that you have to redeem. There's not." He guided her to the sitting room and poured her a glass of perfumed brandy.

"Maybe there is and I just don't know it. Can Ethan and I stay here for a few days? And can I borrow your carriage when I need it? Not all day, just for the afternoon and after sunrise. And don't ask why, please?"

"Of course. I don't know what's going on, but I'll do whatever I can to help you—and that big, gorgeous man of yours. I just wish I'd found him first."

"But you did, didn't you, Dorian. You forget, I can read you just like I can anyone else." She sat back, her eyes glinting. "I wonder, were you his first? What's funny is he is corrupt, but in a way he's an innocent. You were an innocent, but you embraced debauchery so fully that it's second nature for you now. That's what I've always liked about you, you are so completely yourself, there's no pretense. I just wish I could have been here that night to watch the two of you—my two favorite men."

Dorian smiled his glorious smile. "When you're done doing whatever it is you're doing, I'm going to tell Ethan he should turn you over his knee—and maybe even let me watch. Any other woman would have been furious and outraged, but not you. You almost outdo me in some ways."

He was right, she couldn't deny it. She could say she shocked herself sometimes, but she had lost that capacity. She and Dorian would have been perfectly suited to each other, but she wasn't suited to the life he had chosen.

Ethan knew it was the morning of the full moon, even before he opened his eyes. Penelope, ever alert, opened hers at the same time. She did not even have to speak, but he could hear her saying, "I know, my love, I know."

She sat up, held him. "I'll take you there this afternoon," she said, "There's a few things I have to get together for you, but I won't take you there until late. Better not to spend all that time alone. I know I can't take your mind off it, all I can do is try to distract you. I wish we could tell Professor Murray and Vanessa about this, but to what end?

"If you want to distract me, then come here." Ethan pulled her back under the sheets. "Now, where did we leave off last night?"

At three-thirty, they climbed into Dorian's coach and she gave the coachman directions. She'd packed a basket, and he wondered what it contained. He wondered, idly, if it included a revolved with silver bullets—he'd always wondered if that really worked. How did you kill a werewolf anyway?

The coach made its way through twisted, cobblestone streets down to a group of abandoned warehouses. Once this had been a thriving part of the river trade, but an earthquake and flood had changed the bends of the river, leaving abandoned wharves and boathouses high and dry. The warehouses, like the other structures, were succumbing to the effects of age, falling in on themselves and each other, the rotting wood had caused some structures to collapse. It was grey, abandoned and depressing.

Here she had the coachman halt. He handed her down from the carriage, then took the basket and followed her down a stony path. She led him down the row of structures until they came almost to the end.

"Here," she said, " I think this one is relatively safe, and private. You won't see many people, but they're here. They come out mostly at night, mainly men, maybe a few women. The coppers don't come here, it's not worth their time. Most of these people are just waiting to die, they've lost hope, but at least here they're left alone.

She took the basket from him and removed the towel covering it. "Something to eat, though I don't know if you'll be hungry. Half a bottle of whisky, no more, which I hope you don't drink, but it's here." She held up a blue bottle shaped like a tube. "This is laudanum, enough to help ease the pains of your transformation—I know it hurts. I wish it could render you unconscious, but it can't. It worked for someone I knew once, maybe it will help."

I know you have no control over where you go, but you may find it hard to make your way out of here—at least for a while. You're as safe here as you could be anywhere. I'm unloosing you on an unsuspecting group of people, but I can't help it. You'll do less damage here than you would uptown, and it's a better place to hide. I'll come and try to find you after sunrise and take you back to Dorian's. It isn't much, but it's the best I can do for you."

"I know," he replied, "But it's the most anyone's tried to do for me. Now, get out of here, sunset is coming soon and I want you far away from here. This is something I don't want you to see." He kissed her and saw her back to the carriage, trying not to see the look on her face as they drove off. 

He didn't bother with the food, he went straight for the whisky bottle. As he inspected the contents of the basket, he noticed the revolver was gone. Was it to protect her life, he wondered, or was it to prevent him from taking his?

The first pains came as the sun started to go down, the little ones that heralded the gut wrenching pains that seemed to twist his insides. He took the bottle of laudanum and drank it down, pour some whisky into it to get the last drops. The pains hit again as he waited and prayed for the laudanum to work.

The opiate started to take effect. It was, as she said, not a cure all, but it helped temper the pain. The laudanum began to work its way to his brain, numbing him. The contortions, the twisting, aching pain that accompanied the act of his body re-adjusting itself to a form that was not human, seemed to wrench at his muscles and skeleton. He could not see it, but he knew it from old habit, he was changing from human to monster, and the last thing he remembered was seeing his nails grow into talons. Then the transformation took him.

Where once had been a riverbank there was now iron hard dirt. Something stood there, a shape that might once have been human, but was not. It was animal, yet not animal, still it was mindless, a blood lust on it that must be satisfied. It looked up at the moon and began a howl that sounded as much like the cry of a human as it did of an animal.

It began to sniff, searching for a familiar scent. It wandered up the rows of the old buildings, seeking the familiar scent of blood running through veins, human blood, the blood it craved above all.

First one building, then another. Traces of the scent of humanity that had been there once, but was no longer. Then at the next, the smell of a dying fire, the smell of human feet as they went into the old warehouse, thinking themselves safe for the night. The beast entered, quiet and deadly, giving itself away by the growls and the sound of breathing. It stood there, smelling, smelling for the familiar odor that distinguished one from another.

And it became aware of the fear/

It was already too late when they saw it. The three men tried to protect the woman, but each was lifted by the throat, the claws slashing it open, then the body tossed indiscriminately into a corner. The woman looked on, horrified, realizing now that it was coming for her, that it was her that the beast wanted, and nothing and no one could have saved her.

She screamed in pain as the claws ripped across her body, her entrails spilling, but all she could do was look on in horror as the great jaws found her throat, and after that she blessedly she knew no more.

Penelope woke at dawn, feeling rather than knowing it. She looked over and saw Dorian, wondering why he was there until she remembered the nightmares, and Dorian coming to her and holding her until she could sleep again.

She leaned over him and began to shake him awake. "Dorian, wake up, I need you to order your carriage for me. I have to look for Ethan."

"Hmmm, what? If you're going anywhere at this hour, I'm going with you. Is the sun even up?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes awake.

She slid out of bed, removed her nightgown and began to dress. He helped tie her laces and buttoned up the bodice of her dress.

"Wait for me. I'm going to have Rufus get the carriage ready, and tell the cook to have a meal ready for us when we return. Penny," he used his pet name for her, "When you do things like this I wish you'd tell me what's going on. I don't know of anyone else who would accommodate you the way I do."

"It's not my secret to tell, Dorian, you have to ask Ethan. Hurry, please, we need to get where we're going before too many people are on the street. And thank you," she kissed him, showing him just how grateful she was.

"Where are we going?" he asked her as they got in the carriage.

"The place of the lost," she replied, "You'll see."

She looked anxiously out the window as the carriage returned to where she'd taken him the day before. Dorian had roused himself for her sake, despite the early hour, but it was a comfort now to see few people on the streets. Where was Ethan, anyway? She hoped he'd not strayed far from the rundown warehouses. She did not want to go into the woods to look for him in spite of the fact that by now he would have changed back. She wanted to find him, get him in the carriage and return to Dorian's house.

"What is this place?" Dorian looked around at the decay. This had clearly been somewhere but had been nowhere for a long time. Why had she taken Ethan here? Something clearly was wrong, but Penelope never revealed anything. "Ask Ethan," she'd said, but maybe he didn't want to know.

They made their way through the old docks and warehouses. They went from structure to structure, judging if it was safe, only then entering it cautiously. Once they disturbed a group of transients, but a handful of coins relieved any bad feelings and they proceeded to the next derelict structure, frustrated at finding nothing.

Another dilapidated building stood before them. Penelope felt a shiver run up her spine. "Something's in here," she whispered, and took his arm. They entered, the smell greeting them almost before they had set foot in the building.

They proceeded, cautiously, then saw the disembodied head, eyes wide with fear. Dorian tried to hold her back, but she shook her head. She almost regretted listening to him. Pieces of bodies lay strewn around the building. Only one, though, had suffered desecration. What one had been a woman lay in pieces, the gaping middle spewing intestines, the smell of the bowels foul with the smell of excrement.

"Let's get out of here," Dorian urged her, and she allowed him to pull her out.

"Wait, don't leave yet, I have one more place to look." She went to the warehouse she had left him in, seeing the basket in shreds, and the blue vial with its silver lid lay some distance away from the bottle of whisky.

She picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and took a long drink. "Here, Dorian, he's in here, she called to him. She entered the cavernous warehouse, picking her way over boards and rocks, then found Ethan, curled up and shaking.

Cautiously, she laid her hand on his arm. He started, staring at her blankly, then slowly started to recognize her. "Penelope, I…" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"It's all right, Dorian and I are here to take you home. Can you stand?"

He shook his head, "Not yet."

She handed him the bottle of whisky and he took a long, deep, drink. Then she took it away, took a drink herself. "Come on, try. We need to get you out of here." She looked up at Dorian, "Help, please." He came over and somehow they managed to get him to the carriage.

She was silent for most of the way back, aware of Dorian's scrutiny, knowing she could not hold the truth from him for long. And he had an uncanny way of guessing at things. The bodies, the state Ethan had been found in, something would have to give. The risk she'd taken had paid off this time, but there was still one more day to the full moon. She was in Dorian's debt again, and the agreement between the two had always been that debts were paid in full.

And this one would be hard to pay off.


	4. The Aftermath

I have reworked the 3-5th chapters of this story, because, frankly, I didn't like what I had written, Between my Penny dreadful on Archive of our Own and FanFiction, it's starting to reshape itself, but the chapters are still a problem!

There was nothing to do but bring Ethan home and put him to bed. He woke only briefly as they transported him from the carriage to the house, then immediately fell asleep.

Penelope stood next to the bed for a long while. Dorian came up from behind her, saying, "You need to eat, Penny, you're already getting that hollow look around your eyes. If you insist on trying to rescue him, you have got to take care of yourself, too."

She started to say, "I'm not trying to rescue him," then fell silent. Someone else would have believed her, but Dorian knew better. Dorian knew things about her no one else knew. She knew his lies, he knew hers.

Without a word, she got up and followed him to a small dining room, a room where they had shared many meals. He stood over her and made sure she kept eating when he knew she'd rather push the plate away. They retired to the sitting room, and he put on "Don Juan," one of her favorite operas. She had no patience with Wagner, she always told him, too Germanic, nothing like the delicacies of Mozart's operas.

She drained the brandy, then set the glass on the table. "And so we do it again today, and then live as if nothing is wrong until the next full moon. Dorian, I should have fallen in love with you, it would be harder but far less grief."

"But you are in love with him." She nodded miserably. "You fell in love with a big, handsome man, one without a tint of British, but that charm and openness we so love in Americans. If it's any consolation, I think Vanessa had her eye on him, but he much prefers you. So much so he's letting you try to work a miracle that you can't. All for love. Is it worth it?"

"I don't know. Have you ever loved, Dorian? It's easy when they're simple and uncomplicated, but that becomes boring. The complicated, the dark, the mystery, that's what we're truly drawn to. The simple prefer the simple, but not creatures like you and I."

"I could have loved you," said Dorian, "but I would not have made you happy. You're better off with your werewolf—if that's what he is."

Dorian decided for both of them that they would go to the Grand Guignol Theatre that night, for a distraction, he said. They left Ethan, sleeping, in the care of the servants and went to her flat to pick out a gown and jewelry.

"The Worth?" he asked, holding up a black silk gown.

"No, the cherry with the black stripes. Not too fancy but the neckline is low. I'll wear my ruby choker and earrings. I'll have just the touch of dissolute—no decent woman wears red, only prostitutes.

"And you'll be seen with me, which condemns you twice." He went over the to the bookcase, as he always did, and looked at the crystal and the pendulum. "Do these really work?"

"If it's someone who isn't you, yes," she laughed, "the one time I tried to read you was just after we'd met. I gazed into the crystal and a black mist gathered, and the globe turned black. I couldn't use it for three days, that's how long it took to clear. It won't work for everyone, Dorian, I've had to lie my way through readings before, but that was because they were blocking me, they just didn't know it. The pendulum, I think, is the scariest. It just starts moving, and chooses a direction. It works for more people than the crystal ball. I think we need to go back, I'm worried about Ethan."

No sooner had they walked in the door when a servant came running to them, informing them that "something was wrong with Mr. Chandler." Dorian threw down the garment bag full of her clothes and ran with her into the bedroom/

Ethan lay, muscles tensed, eyes open and staring into nothing. His lips were drawn back over clenched teeth, and his fair complexion was paler than the sheets he lay on. His body strained and pulled, his arms flailing out, causing harm to anyone who drew too close.

"Shall I hold him down for you?" Dorian asked her, but she shook her head.

"Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She drew as close as she could to his face, touching his teeth gently and looking at his fingernails. "No, he's not in transition yet, Dorian, but he's reacting to something. I don't know if it's the whisky, the laudanum, or something that happened to him during the night. I don't have experience with this, and what little I do know did not prepare me for this. What I'm going to do is give him some morphine to calm him down. I have to have him awake in time to get him away from here and then get away safe. Watch him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

She left the room and came back with a bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. "Morphine," she held up the bottle, "I don't want to do this, but his convulsions seem to be getting worse." She drew some liquid from the bottle, and injected it into his thigh. "Now, he should start to relax, slowly. I couldn't give him much because we have to have him awake to get him back to the river warehouses. I can't take chances, he could hurt both of us. If he can sleep this off and eat, he'll be strong enough for one more night."

Then four weeks of freedom before we go through this again, she thought. Dorian looked her over, reading her. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the living room. How he always anticipated her needs, she'd never know, but she was grateful. He pulled out a carved box and removed the pipe and the hashish.

"Here, you need this. I'd offer you absinthe, but you'd only turn it down." He lit the pipe and held it to her lips, "Come on, don't argue."

She took the pipe and inhaled as he lit it. He watched as she seemed to visibly relax under the influence of the excellent hashish she always found for him. She pushed the pipe aside when he tried to light it again. "That's enough. I want to just forget things. I want to forget everything, but I'll be no good to anyone if I do. I wonder what it's like for people who have normal lives, who have no idea what it's like if they lift the veil that shields their eyes."

"If it were anyone else but you, you'd be happy, but you know you wouldn't," he said severely, "What you are is ingrained too deeply in who you are. You are here to use your gifts, not deny them."

"One of these days, I'm going to catch you in a lie again, Dorian. Right now the person I need to help is in a morphine sleep. I just hope he wakes from it in time. We can't have him here, and I don't want to just leave him by the river bend. I can't escape what I am, you don't want to escape what you are, and we're both lucky that we're not tortured like Vanessa Ives. Fate has been kinder to us, thank god." She got up from the couch and went to check on Ethan.

His body no longer contorted, his face looked a little more relaxed, and when she touched him he did not jerk. She wished he could stay like that through the night, but knew better. He had to wake, he had to eat, he was far too weak for the ordeal that he faced. Were it anyone else, she would wish that the coming metamorphosis would prove fatal. She did not wish for death for Ethan, but how could anyone choose to live this way?

She went back to the sitting room and sat next to Dorian, leaning her head on his shoulder. Were she prone to tears she would cry, but she wasn't. Circumstances had hardened her years ago.

"He's doomed, you know," he said softly, "You realize this, even if you don't want to admit it. Even if there was a cure for what he is, he would still have to live with what he's done, that terrible loss of life he caused." She tried to pull away from him but he wouldn't let her. "Why do you pursue these lost causes of yours? You're as famous an occultist as Madame Blavatsky in your own right. You could be feted by kings, if you chose. You could stop writing for those ridiculous penny dreadfuls and publish your occult experiences. Why not?"

She picked up the pipe, lit it, inhaled, then exhaled a small, slow stream of smoke. "Yes, I could become the toast of London, I suppose. I could write and publish under my name, and embarrass my brother, which is the least of what he deserves." She stood up and walked around the room. "I suppose I don't do it because I don't want to cheapen myself, or my experience, or exploit the experiences of others. The Occult is all the rage in London right now, but these people merely want to hear lurid tales of things they don't understand. Can you imagine trying to tell Ethan's story, especially when I don't even understand it? Or yours? Maybe people are better off not knowing." She swept out of the room.

Ethan was dreaming, struggling to awaken from what he was dreaming, but something seemed to hold him in it. It was like he was in a coffin, he could feel walls all around him, something was pushing on him, suffocating him.

Somewhere, far away, he an animal growling, snuffling. It seemed to be right above him, then the noise seemed to be coming from somewhere inside his tomb. The noise grew louder, was in his ear, then something warm and wet was pressing against it, and words came, not words that would come from a human throat.

"You are mine," it said, "You were always mine, you were fated to be mine. You will be mine for all eternity."

"No," he thought desperately, then screamed, NO!" and began to struggle, his legs and arms feeling bound and twisted. No, he would never resign himself to that fate, that creature.

Penelope and Dorian came running to his side, holding him down to keep from hurting himself. He did not see them look at each other for he was still in the midst of the dream, trying to escape the bonds, which were only the sheets in which he had entangled himself.

At last he went limp, and opened his eyes, but he was still confused. "Where am I?" he asked, then louder, demanding, "Where am I?"

Penelope took a chance and sat on the bed. She could not grasp his clenched fist but took hold of his arm saying, "Ethan, Ethan, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

Suddenly he realized that he did. He looked down and saw the tangled sheets that Dorian was starting to unwind. He looked up at her calm face, unclenched his fist, laid one of his big hands on her cheek.

"Penelope?" he asked, as if not sure, but she seemed content with that.

"I want you to sit up, just a little, and then do a favor for me." She stared intently at his face, as if looking for something. She brought up a finger and held it in front of his eyes. "Look at my finger, I want you to follow it with you eyes as I move it. Just your eyes, don't move anything else."

She passed the finger back and forth in front of him, then seemed content with what she saw. She lay a finger on his wrist, left it there for a moment. Then was silent.

A long while seemed to pass before she spoke. "What do you remember of last night? Can you tell me something about it, anything?"

He shook his head, "No, nothing, I never remember anything."

"Have you ever spent more than two nights in transition? Has it ever started before sunset?"

Her questions embarrassed him, but he answered anyway. "No, never more than two nights. I've turned twice in months where there's been a blue moon, that's it. And I've never started to turn before sunset. Never. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"You had a seizure, Ethan, one bad enough to scare me. I'd like to know why, but I'm not a doctor. I wish we could tell Vanessa and the professor…?

"NO!" he sat up in bed, "I don't trust what they'd do. The Professor, not at all, Vanessa, maybe but how much would she tell Murray." Then, to his horror, he saw Dorian Grey standing at his bedside. "No," he said softly.

"It's all right Ethan, ", her voice soft and soothing, "Dorian is one of my oldest friends, I couldn't have helped you last night without him. You need to get up, eat. You have one more night, and you need your strength. One more night and then we have four weeks to see if we can find a cure."

"There is no cure," Ethan said bitterly, "Else I would be in my home where I belong."

She laid her cool fingers on his forehead, "I know, believe me, I know. We'll be in the sitting room when you're ready to come out." She turned and left the room.

Ethan cast an angry look at Dorian. "You leave her alone, do you understand me? She doesn't need you, we don't need your help."

Dorian smiled, "But you do, you just don't realize it. And I don't think she'd agree with you." He kissed the top of Ethan's head, then followed Penelope out of the room.


	5. Beware the Night

Ethan at his meal in solitude. He did not want to eat, it was a given that he must, if only for Penelope's peace of mind. And he was feeling weak. This transformation has taken more out of him than the previous, and the seizure had threatened to drain even more of his strength. At least this night would be the last of his ordeal-for the month.

Penelope came to fetch his tray when he was finished. She had let down her hair, and tied it back with a black ribbon, making her look young and girlish. The violet shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep made him feel guilty, knowing that he was the cause. She was taking on all this for his sake, and he knew he was not worth protecting.

He patted the seat beside him, and she came and sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You look tired," he said, "You are doing too much for me. I do not want you to become ill with exhaustion on my behalf."

"I will be fine; it is only one more night, Ethan. Dorian and I are going to dinner and the theater tonight. He says a diversion will do me good, and I can't say that I disagree with him." She sighed, "I've prepared a basket for you, again, with more laudanum this time. And extra blankets. I don't know if anyone left the warehouses and what you'll do if…"

"I know, I know, you don't need to say it. I have no way of knowing what I'll do, or where I'll be. Do not take so much on yourself, Penelope, in the long run you can do nothing to help me or predict the outcome. I had not intended for anyone to learn my secret, but, somehow, you knew. I wish you had not told Dorian Grey, but where your wishes are concerned he seems trustworthy."

"He is, more than you know. He doesn't like people to know how he truly is, he'd rather be his reputation than let people know he is kind and generous, even passionate at heart. He knows your secret, and he'll keep it, for me if nothing else. He's a dear friend, someone I can always count on, but he'll never admit to it. Don't judge him; he's the last person who's inclined to be judgmental of others." She took Ethan's face in her hands and kissed him. "He's taking good care of both of us. You don't have to like him; just don't ask me to feel the same way." She rose and left the room.

Dorian came with them as they rode down to the river. Penelope looked over the scene, the bodies were still there, no one had moved them. "Is anyone even here?" she murmured. The coachman opened the door, and Ethan exited the carriage, taking the basket and the blankets that Penelope had provided.

"No, don't get out," he ordered her when she tried to follow him, "You can't do anything more than you've done." He put his hand on the back of her head and pressed her to him, holding her tightly. "Go," he commanded, and released her, and closed the door.

She watched him walk away, trying to wipe away tears without Dorian seeing.

"He's right, you know, Penny," Dorian put his arm around her, consoling her; "I don't think anyone has ever done so much for him. We'll go back home, you can have a bath, dress and do your hair. We'll go to dinner and then to the theater. There's hours to go until dawn, you can't do anything for him until then. What is it that you always tell me, 'there's only the now'? All we can do is hope for him."

She lay back against the carriage seat. "All right, you win. I'll put on my red striped dress and try one of your colognes. I'll even go to the 'Grand Guignol Theatre' with you, though I think I'll regret it."

Ethan was glad for the gift of the blankets. He looked up at the sky; the sun had not yet sunk very low. Sunset could surprise him sometimes, come sooner than he expected. He used his remaining time to look around, to see the damage he had done the night before.

It was worse than he feared. The bodies still lay scattered about, torn and gruesome. He didn't know if anyone remained there, he dared not look, for fear they might recognize him. Did he talk to anyone before the transition took place? He didn't think so. Perhaps no one living remained there, would the bodies not have been removed by now?

He went to the far warehouse where he had spent the previous night. A blanket lay there, torn to shreds, along with the remains of a basket. Here, at least, there was no blood. He could be just another transient who had taken refuge by the river in a place where everyone was left alone.

She looked lovely sitting in the glow of the candlelight, Dorian decided. Her dark hair was piled in a mass of curls on her head, and clusters of rubies dangled from her shell-like ears. Why had he ever let her get away from him, he wondered, but he knew. They had always been more like friends than lovers, friends who shared their secrets freely knowing they were safe. As for Ethan, he'd never seen her so enamored of anyone. He understood her attraction for the big, handsome American. There was something in Ethan, even if you did not know his curse that drew people to him, that even made you want to protect him.

He was not so sure now if the Grand Guignol was a good idea, but if he could persuade her to laugh, to see it was only a joke—albeit one in poor taste—she would not take it so seriously. He wanted her to forget her troubles for just one night. And she had not objected when he had suggested it, maybe she thought the same thing.

She drew stares as they walked into the theatre. Not many could carry off the cherry striped gown and the black fur cape, but she had the height and carriage for it. She had touched up the deep cheery rouge on her lips, a shade no "decent" woman would wear, and it suited her wonderfully.

"I'm the envy of every man here," he told her, "Not even Jenny Churchill could outshine you tonight."

"And that is quite the compliment, my dear," she patted his cheek, "I saw her once; the woman is astonishingly beautiful, even at her age."

"Shh, the curtain is rising," and they settled down to enjoy terribly bad theatre.

Ethan weighed the vial of laudanum in his hand, weighing whether or not he should use it. He then unscrewed the cap and poured the contents down his throat lest he decide against it. "And now I wait," he thought, "Like the time before that, and the time before that, and all the times it has happened before." He looked up at the sky, watching the sun sink slowly in the reddened, polluted skies of London.

The cramps hit him just as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He lay on his side, doubled over in pain, waiting impatiently for the laudanum to start dulling his senses so he could pass through the change in a narcotic stupor.

But even though he had taken more, the narcotic was not working as well. He began to tense, then convulse as the familiar pain over took him. His cries were heart rending, as if he were crying out to God to spare him the ordeal he must go through.

"Hey Mister, are you okay?" A dirty face peered out at him beneath a dirty cotton cap. A girl was only twelve years old, at most, but her eyes seemed old, as if she had seen far too much.

"Mister, can I help?" His eyes, slowly fading from consciousness, looked up at her. So he was not alone, after all.

"Get out of here, get as far as you can!" he ordered her, and the tone of his voice must have frightened her, for she turned on her heels and began to run.

But it was too late. The beast, the unbridled beast, had taken over. It started to run, but the laudanum was making it clumsy and it stumbled over a stone as it attempted to take off after her. It got up on all fours, then rose, but by then the girl had made good her escape.

It stood, sniffed the air, seeking a familiar scent. Clumsily it began to wander around the warehouses, seeking out easy prey and here it was so easy. It wandered through the warehouses and boathouses, sniffing and smelling, but could not find what it sought. Where was the scent of hot human blood, coursing through veins underneath soft skin? Where were these fragile beings that he wanted, no, needed to find?

Mindlessly, without direction, it wandered away from the warehouses, and up a cobbled lane. Its sharp ears could hear them, they were there, waiting, waiting for him to devour them.

A lone woman was walking the streets, alone, hoping to earn enough money before it got too late to head to the pubs with a fistful of cash. She wasn't young and she wasn't pretty, but she had a way with the men, knew what they liked. She wandered through the alley, counting the money she had earned so far, when she thought she heard something. A soft growling, a heavy breathing, she didn't know what, but it was starting to give her a creepy feeling, like someone might be coming up behind her to slit her throat, like that Ripper.

She'd lost her chance now to run. She could smell it before it was on her, but it was too late to stop it from tearing out her throat. Her screams were suddenly cut off as the beast ripped her throat out, spraying blood all over her clothes and it.

When it finished, it left the body, as it always left the body, and wandered up the street, seeking new prey.

"Oh, this is gruesome—and this is the talk of London?" Penelope hid her eyes, not amused at the blood seeming to spray out of the girl on stage. She peeped again through her gloved fingers, relieved that the curtain had fallen, hiding the mess that must surely be cleaned before the next act. "I want a glass of champagne to wash the memory out of me. Oh Dorian, this is truly horrible! I think I preferred the dog and the rats!"

"One more act, and we'll leave. I'm afraid London has a taste for the macabre these days. Maybe it was the Ripper that inured us to the sight of blood."

"Or Londoners, as always, are unbearably vulgar. Maybe the reality of things has driven us to this." They made their way to the bar, following the crowd, "We now mock something serious to keep our fear back from the reality. We have to deliberately shock ourselves to pretend that it doesn't scare us."

"Or we're just bored," Dorian answered, "And seek new varieties of entertainment."

"Like you? I don't have that problem, my world is strange enough. I how…" she trailed off.

He took her arm and squeezed it. "Don't think about it. Don't let your mind go there. Let's settle for cheap entertainment, then we'll go back to my house and drink perfumed brandy."

"And smoke perfumed hashish," she added, and they laughed. "We're degenerates together, whatever would Ethan think? Americans can be so puritanical, even when they're lechers."

The second act was as blood filled and lurid as the second. "Let's leave, Dorian," she whispered mischievously, "There's better entertainment at your house." He nodded and they left the theater.

She wandered around his parlor, looking at the paintings as she liked to do. She was high from the hashish and brandy, but not too much so. The candlelight made the pictures seem soft, shadowy, some gazed down with eyes that seemed almost alive.

"So many paintings," she said to him, "I'd rather come here than a gallery or museum, the feeling I get is almost overwhelming; how strange that it seems so different in the daylight. You really ought to find an artist to patronize, your taste is so exquisite."

"All of it?" he asked, "I know of one you don't like, shall we go and see if you've changed your mind?"

She smiled at him, took a sconce from the wall, and disappeared behind the hidden door. He followed her, listening to the rustle of her skirts. The mirrors that lined the corridor gave back their reflections in each one, a ghostly parade of images passing by.

"Why all the mirrors, Dorian?" she asked, as she did each time they came here.

"I don't know, but I think I saw something similar once, and liked the effect."

She nodded, the same old response, she didn't even know why she asked. They came to the painting, sitting covered on its easel. Carefully, he withdrew the cover, then sat on the chair that faced it.

She set the sconce on a holder in the wall, then came to his side. "I don't like this painting, Dorian, if I weren't afraid that something would happen, I'd cut it to shreds and then burn it."

"So why don't you." He took hold of his waist and set her on his knees. She leaned back against him, his hands holding onto her slender waist.

"I'm afraid that something would happen to you if the painting were destroyed. Like you and it are no longer one, each is dependent upon the other. I have the feeling that if I destroyed the painting it would kill you." She turned to him, "I really, sincerely believe that, Dorian."

She cast a critical eye on the canvas and pointed. "Each time I see it, something has changed. Never radical, never drastic, but a slight shift. I also think that the images move sometimes, I swear, I've seen it. This is more than a painting; I don't know what it is, but it has gone beyond a simple piece of art. It's alive and breathing; I think it knows the hold it has on you. I don't of a spell to break this enchantment; nothing like it has ever been seen. I know why you spend so much time with it, it holds your fate on the canvas."

"Am I going to have to take you upstairs and make love to you to make you stop talking this nonsense? It's not so sinister as that, Penelope, I'm not in its thrall. I know you worry for everyone you care about, but don't be afraid, if I need to destroy it I can, I will."

"That's what you always say, always, and still, here it sits. Oh my god," she drew in a sharp breath, "Didn't you see it? The image moved, Dorian, it moved."

He took the sconce from the wall, and handed it to her. He swept her up off her feet, than started back down the corridor.

"What are you doing?" She held the sconce away from her hair so she wouldn't burn it.

"I'm taking you upstairs. Don't worry, your cowboy will never know.


	6. The Watkins Book Store

**I am playing with history a little bit. Watkins Book Shop is the oldest occult book store still in business in London. It opened in 1893, but I am playing with dates. Likewise, Arthur Edward Waite, like Madame Blavatsky, was a real person and the designer of the Rider Waite Tarot deck, still considered today's gold standard, from which all other versions have derived. Florence Cook was a well-known medium (some called her a charlatan), and was active in the late 1870's.**

Penelope woke from a drug fogged sleep, vowing that she would abstain from perfumed brandy and hashish—or at least not indulge in them with Dorian. More shocking was the discovery that she was not wearing clothes, and that lying next to her, his dark head on a pillow, was Dorian Grey.

She lay back and groaned. "I thought I had more sense." She quickly took a look at the sheets and saw the tell tale red stains. "My god, what have I done? What did I let him talk me into? Oh, Dorian, was this your fault or mine?"

He turned over and smiled at her, reaching his arms out for her, but she recoiled. "Dorian, what happened? Was this your fault, or was it mine?"

Dorian smiled sheepishly and scratched his head. "I rather suppose it was both of us. I asked if you were sure, and I believe you said 'Why not?' We were both rather intoxicated and inhibitions had been shed. If you want me to apologize, I will, but I can't say I'm really sorry. I have wanted this for a long time, we seem to be the only two who understand the other. I've never had to pretend for you."

She put her arms around him. "We're natural people, Dorian, we don't deny how we feel, and we really don't waste much time in regrets. I've always thought that my virginity was the basis of my power, but maybe that's just not the case. "

"Maybe that's what someone wanted you to believe. Now why don't you come here?" He smiled and lay back on the pillow.

"No, we've got to find Ethan." She leaned over to see her red dress lying on the floor. She got out of bed, and looked in various armoires until she found a robe. "You have more clothes than anyone I know. Get dressed and call for your carriage, we need to get down to the warehouses. I'm afraid he may have wandered, but maybe, maybe, he'll find his way back after sunrise. I'm so frightened for him, I don't know enough about this to know how easily he can be killed. I've heard stories about silver and silver bullets, but is that fable or truth?"

She picked up her dress and looked at the sheets, "Oh, please have your housekeeper get rid of those! The maids will talk, they always do. And they'll figure out it's me."

"My dearest Penelope, I doubt that any of my staff can be shocked by anything I do anymore. And you're an old friend, you've been here many times, they'll just be surprised you were a virgin!" He laughed as she scowled at him, then began to smile in spite of herself.

She left the room, and he dressed, not envying her the layers of clothes she must put on. When she returned, he obediently buttoned her dress, then turned her around, "You look lovely, but you always do. Come, let us go find your werewolf." Her eyes looked strickened and he immediately regretted his words. "Don't lose hope, Penelope, we'll find him."

In the carriage she sat away from him, huddled against the opposite side. He thought it was him, so he said, "Penelope, about last night, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not upset with you. It's Ethan, I'm worried about him. There's always the possibility that something could happen. Besides," she leaned towards him, "Wasn't it you who once told me that no one could be made to do something they didn't want to do. What happened last night was me or you or both of us. There is no blame, for anyone. Please watch out your window and look for him. He could be anywhere." She turned and began to look out her side, staring intensely.

They reached the warehouse, and inspected each building. Nothing. They went to the far building and found the empty vial of laudanum, and the basket, still containing its contents. "He didn't spend the night here. Oh, Dorian, where is he?"

He knew her well enough to recognize the panic in her voice. He put his arms around her, "We'll find him. Maybe he'll come back here. It's barely past sunup, he could be sleeping in an alley, maybe he's hiding somewhere and hasn't woke up. He could come back here, you don't know. Don't give up, my dear girl, we'll find him, I'm sure of it." He led her back to the carriage and helped her in.

The carriage made its way carefully through the maze of warehouses, then slowly up the cobblestone street. They paused at each alley, looking, hoping to see Ethan's tall frame emerge from the darkness.

A man was staggering out of an alley, unsure on his feet as if drunk. "Look, there! Stop the carriage, Dorian. It's him." Despite Dorian's protestations, she jumped out of the still moving carriage and ran to him.

Ethan seemed confused, looked at her blankly, not recognizing her. "It's all right, my darling, hang onto me." He fell against her, making her stagger under his weight. Dorian appeared at her side, and together they half walked, half dragged Ethan to the carriage. She held his head as he lay, supine, on the seat.

"Dorian, look, there's blood on his shirt. We've got to get him back to your house, and get his clothes off. He looks worse now than he did last time, I wonder what happened?"

"He probably doesn't know. It's best if we just put him to bed and let him sleep it off. If you know where he keeps his rooms, we can fetch some of his clothes. My trousers will be too short for him."

"Dorian, I just remembered something. Can you watch over him for me? Please? I'm supposed to go to Watkins Book Store today. Helena Blavatsky wants to introduce me to the new member of the Theosophical Society. His name is Arthur Edward Waite, and he's designed a new deck of tarot cards. Florence Cook is supposed to do a sitting for me. I planned out all of this a month ago, not knowing that I was going to meet Ethan, or have to deal with…"

"Well, yes, I suppose in a way I owe you. I have better things to do than play wet nurse to your Ethan, but I'll look after him for you. One of these days you must promise to bring me with you when you do a sitting with your medium friend."

She sighed. "If I brought you, she'd put on one of her performances. When she reads for me personally, I get a real reading. Florence Cook is probably one of the most talented mediums in London, and that's partly because she knows how to put on a good show. Evelyn Poole, the infamous Madame Kali, isn't half as good as her, and she's not a genuine medium, either, no more than Helena is."

"Madame Kali—I think I recall the name. Yes, she was entertaining at a party and was quite upstaged. A young woman went into a genuine trance, or at least I think it could have been, and stole the show from her."

"I think I heard about that. Wasn't that party given by an Egyptologist? They don't invite me to the same parties where Evelyn is entertaining—she's always afraid of the competition. I think she's jealous."

They'd reached Dorian's front door. The coachman assisted him as they carried Ethan upstairs and laid him in bed. Dorian helped Penelope remove his clothes, then a main brought a basin of warm water, and she began to bathe him.

"His fever is not so high this time, but somehow he looks worse. And he has scratches on his arm and forehead, he must have struggled with someone. I wonder if he will remember where he was, he must have left the river. I need to find another place for him, at least I have a month to do it."

She was speaking too fast, her eyes were too bright, and her face was flushed an unbecoming red, all signs that things were not well.

"Penny, eat, take a bath, rest. I'll send one of the maids up here to keep an eye on Ethan. You're putting yourself at risk, I can always read the signs; if you don't take care of yourself, you'll become ill. Will you please slow down and rest for a while."

"I don't know how," she smiled bleakly, "but I'll try."

He led her to his room and ordered breakfast for her, standing over her to make sure she ate. She allowed him to persuade her to take a hot bath, then she lat on the settee in his room and slept for two hours.

When she woke, she checked on Ethan, satisfied that if he did not seem much better, he at least was not worse. There had been no seizures, nor was he displaying signs of fever. She dressed herself in a navy blue suit that brought out the blue in her eyes. She fastened her seal cape around her throat and ordered Dorian's carriage to take her to Watkins Book Store.

Watkins Book Store was the center for the occult community in London. Madame Blavatsky, a Russian émigré, has founded the Theosophical Society, for those who were interested in occult matters, such as herself. She had befriended Penelope some years ago, when she had seen how talented the young medium was, and became responsible for promoting her career and her reputation.

Madame greeted her as she entered the shop. "Penelope, dushka, it has been so long since we've seen you," she said in her cultivated Russian accent, "There is someone I am dying for you to meet."

The little, dark Russian dragged her to a table where a young man with long dark hair and a luxurious mustache was sitting. "Here, she is, Arthur, the one I told you about. Penelope, this is Arthur Edward Waite. He is going to design a new deck of Tarot cards, and we are going to introduce it in this shop.."

Penelope held out her hand to him, "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Waite, I am very eager to see the deck of cards you have planned." He bowed to her, and then sat down. "Helena," she said, "Is Florence here? Will she come into the shop today? She had promised to do a sitting for me."

"I expect her momentarily," said Madame Blavatsky, "I am sure she will see you first thing," knowing the fondness that London's most famous medium had for Penelope. "In the meantime, you must try this tea, it is Lapsang Suchong, fresh off the boat from Hong Kong, a most delicious brew."

Penelope made patient small talk while waiting for the medium to show. If she had hoped to keep quiet her liaison with Ethan, it seemed to be general knowledge—someone must have seen them together. She smiled politely when told they made "a most admirable young couple" and was quietly pleased when Madame remarked upon how handsome her young man was.

A woman came into the shop that Penelope did recognize, but Madame Blavatsky smiled broadly when she saw her. "Miss Ives," she said, "I am so glad you have graced us with your presence. There is someone here I want you to meet: Vanessa Ives, this is Penelope Von Bulow. Arthur, is the resemblance between the two of them not remarkable?"

And it was. Penelope found herself staring because she could not help it. It was not that Vanessa was a mirror image of her—she wasn't—but the resemblance was so uncanny that it took her breath away.

Vanessa was fashionably thin, her cheekbones severely sculpted in her oval face. Her eyes were pure grey, where Penelope's had a definite blue cast. Penelope seemed softer, curvier, her face rounder, but somehow the likeness was so pronounced that it could not be ignored. They could be mistaken for twins at first glance, then the more observant would conclude they were sisters. The resemblance was so strong, so uncanny, it could not be denied.

Before she could say anything to Vanessa, Florence Cook made her usual grand entrance into Watkins. Her hair was done in ringlets, flattering her more than the current fashionable chignon would. Her dress was flamboyant in the manner that Helena Blavatsky favored, few would have doubted her profession were they not already aware of her notoriety.

"My dear Penelope," she said in her ringing tones, "You have come to seek my advice. Well, Katie and I shall probe the spheres and find out what is troubling you and how we can put it to right." She folded Penelope in her embrace, smelling heavily of patchouli and cigarette smoke.

Penelope in turned smiled weakly at her, overcome by both patchouli and the scent of tobacco, "Thank you Florence, I would much appreciate your help. When would it be possible to begin?"

Madame found them a room, then she, Vanessa, and Arthur Waite joined them. A sitting with Florence Cook was as good as a play. Though she did sittings on a small scale for friends, she might decide to bring forth her connection to the spirit world, Katie King, and have her appear to materialize. No matter, Penelope thought, when Florence was not acting the charlatan, she was a talented medium.

The room was lit only by candles. Florence sat in a wooden chair, breathing, praying for guidance, slowly working herself into the trance and calling forth Katie King. Would the spirit of Katie materialize? Or, as Penelope hoped, merely speak through Florence. She was sure that Madame Blavatsky was hoping that Arthur Waite would see Florence Cook's performance at its best, but she was here for advice.

Florence was now deep in trance and Katie began to come out. The medium's body seemed to shrink, her hair even seemed a different color. "I am here with you tonight," spoke a soft, almost girlish voice, "Who is it who seeks my help?"

"Quiet please, there is someone who wishes to speak, someone who says she can tell you what you want to know." Katie/ Florence sat back in the chair, and the medium began breathing again, waiting for this new spirit to come through.

Wait, thought Penelope, there has never been any other spirit than Katie. This is someone that Florence must not know about. I knew she was not a charlatan, no matter what some might say. This is not a performance, this is the real thing.

The medium's hooded eyes opened, her face her own now, all traces of Katie gone. She looked around, and Penelope knew that she was being used, that someone else was seeing through her eyes. If she had not been a real medium before, she had now become one.

The candle holders began to rattle upon the table, which began to slowly levitate until it was two inches above the floor. The chairs they sat upon shook as if a violent earthquake was shaking the shop. The floor began to rock back and forth, causing the observers to hold onto their already unsteady seats. Madame Blavatsky jumped out of her chair and opened the door that lead to the main shop, where virtually nothing was disturbed.

Florence Cook began to cough, to choke, her breathing labored, until at last she closed her eyes and slumped back into the chair. As she did, the rattling and the disturbances stopped. A pitcher sat on the table, and though a great deal of the contents had spilled, there was enough left for Penelope to pour Florence a glass of water. She waited until she opened her eyes then handed it to her. The medium took it without a word.

"What happened?" she asked calmly, looking around at the others.

There was silence for a moment, then Penelope was the first to crack. "Oh, you just had another spirit guide appear, and then we had an earthquake in this room." She held her laughter in for as long as she could before it burst forth. Waite was silent for a moment, then he began to laugh, too, as did Madame Blavatsky and Vanessa Ives.

"My dear Florence," the Blavatsky said between peals of laughter, "Your best performance in your lifetime, and you were not even able to enjoy it. Had we observers to see it, you would now be more than the toast of London."

The medium clearly did not find it so funny. She drank her water and with a sweep of her taffeta skirts, and left the room with what dignity she could muster, slamming the door to the shop behind her.

"Well," said Vanessa, "I am glad I chose today to come here, that was quite entertaining." She reached into her reticule and drew out a card. "I would be so pleased if you were to come and visit me. I have engagements this afternoon, but I am usually home." She put one gloved hand on Penelope's face, observing her. "The resemblance between us is so uncanny, I would like to see what else we might have in common."

Penelope smiled and took the card. She was not sure what she thought of Miss Ives, but this matter was one that must be explored. It is not often that you meet your doppelganger, and she wanted to learn more about this mysterious stranger so resemblance to herself was so close it was frightening.


	7. The Mysterious Vanessa Ives

Penelope could think of nothing but Vanessa and their uncanny resemblance during the ride home. She had heard stories of doppelgangers, and their supposed presage of death, if one made the fateful encounter. She was inclined to dismiss the stories, but had never supposed that this would happen to her. What did this mean?

She did not know what to make of it. Though the resemblance between her and Vanessa Ives was uncanny enough for many of the patrons of the bookstore to remark upon, there were differences to the discerning eye. Vanessa did not possess her softly rounded face; Vanessa was reed thin, while her figure was curvy, her breasts plump. Her almond shaped eyes were a darker shade of grey, her rich brown hair was dark, but not so dark as Vanessa's, which stopped a few shades of being black.

Still, the resemblance made her distinctly uncomfortable, all the more so because looking into Vanessa's eyes she had seen another staring out from them. This other was there but briefly, but still she noted it. And Vanessa had made no effort to hide it. Did she even know of its existence?

At least she harbored no such secrets. The madness of her brilliant brother, perhaps, but even so his ability to conduct his medical practice and run the Charity Hospital redeemed him somewhat. She had separated herself from him years ago. The distant relative who had taken her in was the one who had recognized her psychic talents, and had taught her all she knew. When their parents died, the solicitor had contacted her and informed her of their inheritance. This same helpful solicitor had taken care of the estates debts, and had found and purchased the flats where she and her brother now lived.

It always startled her to see him, so little did they have in common. There was none of the fear of him left now; he was polite and solicitous when she saw him. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would leave the other alone, and the arrangement worked for them both.

The butler took her cape, and she went into the living room to pour herself a small brandy. Dorian came into the room and kissed her, "Your werewolf is asking for you," he said, and took her brandy and drank it.

Ethan was sitting up in bed, his color better. Best of all he was actually eating as if he had an appetite. He smiled when he saw her, and set down his tray, then held his arms out to her. She went to him and fell gratefully into his embrace, relieved to see him well and in good spirits.

She pulled away from him, sat up, and laid her slender fingers on his forehead. "No fever, follow my finger," she instructed him and as she moved it back and forth in front of his eyes. "No headache?" she queried him. She took his hands, feeling for the quaking—there was only the usual slight tremor in the left.

"Well, I don't know why you are so different today than you were yesterday, but if you are doing this well, I guess that is a good sign. Get out of bed, if that is what you want, there's no reason you can't go home."

He put his arms around her slender waist, "What about you, are you going home?"

"No, I'm going to stay here for a few days. This is my refuge, the place where I go to escape. No brother, no clients, just as much peace and quiet as I desire." She hesitated, "You could stay here with me, if you like. It occurs to me, Ethan, I don't even know where you live!"

"I have a room on the waterfront, it's not so bad. It's close enough to the center of town that I don't depend on hacks, I can walk. I'd stay here with you, darling, but I have things I must attend to. I wish you weren't staying here, I don't trust Dorian Grey."

"Are you jealous? That's really rather sweet, but you don't need to be. It's like I told you, Dorian and I have been friends for a long time. I've made a tidy sum of money, thanks to him. He has referred have enough clients to me that I need never worry over money again. He's been very good for my reputation. The more colorful I appear, the more notorious, the more desirable I become. Evelyn Poole, who calls herself "Madame Kali", doesn't make as much money I do, she just attends more parties."

He got up and dressed, still not sure. He pulled on his coat, and hat, thoughtfully brushed and tidied by Dorian's butler. Pulling a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil out of his pocket, he wrote down an address.

"Here," he handed it to her, "This is the address of Professor Malcolm Murray. Most days this is where you can find me, I help them out with little favors. Vanessa and the professor would no doubt be able to tell you where I am."

"Vanessa?" Her pretty brow puckered, "How odd, I just met a Vanessa, Vanessa Ives. I'm going to call on her tomorrow."

"You met Vanessa Ives?" He held her at arms' length, "That's very strange. I've been thinking that you reminded me of someone, but I couldn't remember who. The resemblance is very strong, now that I see it, you could practically be her twin! If you visit Vanessa, you may possibly find me there." Then he gave her a look of such intensity that she turned away from him.

"I don't like that I look like her. When you see your doppelganger, it's supposed to mean your death. There is enough difference between us that we are not the other's twin, that I take comfort in. She's strange though, Ethan. Not unkind, but it's as if something lurks behind her eyes and sees out of them. Like she is herself, yet at the same time not herself. I've met people who were possessed before, and they have that same look. I am not afraid, but if I did not tell you that she makes me feel uneasy, I would not be telling you the truth."

He kissed her goodbye, a long and lingering kiss. "Vanessa will not harm you, and I don't think she would intend to," he said, "And you, you are strong and fearless. You have told me you can take care of yourself, and I believe you. Just please, don't stay here with Dorian too long."

She slapped him playfully on the cheek. "Go Ethan, I will not quarrel with you over Dorian. If you are at the professor's tomorrow, I will see you when I meet the mysterious Miss Ives." She walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye.

"No argument then?" asked Dorian cheerfully, "I half expected him to drag you out of here."

"Fortunately he has more sense than that. He doesn't know the nature of our relationship, therefore he is uneasy about it. And he is not so sure of himself. He's no easier to read for me than you are. I thought I knew so much more than I actually do. I remember when I first heard that vampires were more than a folktale, now I know they are more than myth. And Ethan, where does that come from? I've heard tales of gypsy curses, but never a living, breathing, werewolf from the New World. I wonder if he even knows.

Dorian came to her, put his arms around her waist, and rested his cheek against hers. "Maybe Vanessa Ives will have something to tell you. Professor Murray is a famous explorer, notorious for his quest for the source of the Nile. I think there are other things that go on under his roof. Now's the time to set your famous gossip network in motion. Didn't you tell me once that servants know more that goes on under their roof than their master?"

She pulled away from him, "So I did, Dorian, so I did. I'm going to see her tomorrow, I'm very curious about Miss Vanessa Ives. There is something about her that is not quite right; it's as if she's harboring a dangerous secret. I don't know how much I'll be able to learn about her over tea, but we shall see."

The next day found her standing in front of Dorian's mirror, examining her reflection. She was more than satisfied with the results. Her new suit accentuated her height, and black always flattered her. The high necked silk blouse, red to relieve the severity of the black, provided some color. She pinned the black cameo Dorian had given her long ago to her collar of her blouse.

She'd recently had the suit made, the skirt cut narrower than current fashion, and the short jacket man tailored, with scarlet piping. She'd purchased a new hat, fashionably small, but set with a profusion of black silk flowers, a lone crimson bloom with outspread petals for accent.

"I see you will set a new fashion," Dorian draped her fur cape around her shoulders. "Where did it come from?"

"My imagination, and my excellent seamstress—with her talent, she could have her own studio in Paris, if she chose. I am lucky she prefers to remain in London." She paused a moment, "Dorian, could I ask you something."

His reflection in the mirror stared back at hers, "Of course, you can ask me anything, you know that."

"Do you ever get tired of it, the immortality, I mean. Does it ever wear on you?"

No one else would have dared ask this, if they knew, that is. He smoothed her cape over her shoulders. "No, Penny, but, at the same time, yes. When I look at you now, so young, so fresh and lovely, it makes me sad that one day I will lose you. You are one of those women who will probably be lovely until the day they die, it reminds me of that fragile mortality that you suffer. The inevitability of it, you can't escape it and there's no way I can devise a way to prevent it."

He wrapped his hands around her waist, "When you die, I am going to have the most lovely headstone carved for you, and every day I will have fresh flowers put on your grave. I'll never forget you, but I won't look back, either. I am what I am, I've given up fighting it."

She sighed, not satisfied with the answer. "You said yes, and no, not what I wanted to hear, but honest enough coming from you. Now, will you call your coach please? I am feeling uneasy about meeting Miss Ives, though why, I do not know. There is something about her that frightens me a little, and I have the feeling that she knows. I don't like people with dark secrets, excepting you," she gave a nod to him, "I think we were supposed to meet, don't ask me why. I wish the occult circle in London were larger, then I'd feel less conspicuous. She wants to meet me, therefore I go. I'm bringing my cards, just in case, or perhaps just to make me feel better."

She watched out the window as Dorian's carriage made its way to the neighborhood where Vanessa resided. The buildings she passed were respectable, but not fashionable. Her neighborhood seemed shabby by comparison, but its lovely rose colored bricks gave it a warmth the structures here lacked. In this neighborhood there would be no shouted conversations from a window, no street vendors hawking their wares. No one here would intimately know their neighbors, invite them for a glass of wine, or to hear a song newly composed.

This was her past. This was Ethan's past. They had grown up with wealth, but had lost or rejected it. The days were long past when she was one of London's debutantes, enduring the endless stream of boring balls and parties. She'd even been presented to the queen, curtseying before the dumpy little woman with white hair, and kissing her soft, moist hand.

The carriage was pulling up in front of the entry way. She walked to the door, and knocked gently, not knowing what to expect.

The door opened, and a black man in uniform stood in front of her. She gave a gasp and put her gloved hand to her mouth when she saw the scars that lined both cheeks. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"It is all right, Miss, please come in. Miss Ives is expecting you." He motioned her in, took her cape, and led her to a small room that seemed neither masculine nor feminine in its décor. She looked around, there was a round table of a dark wood, and bookshelves of a matching color lined the walls. There was a warmth here, in spite of the severity, and she could see how it might be a pleasant place to sip a cup a tea and read from one of the many books.

A man in late middle age came into the room, "Vanessa, I…," he stopped himself, "No, please excuse me, I can see you are not Vanessa, though the resemblance is so close I can see how I made the mistake. He came to her and bowed formally, "I am Sir Malcolm Murray, at your service," he took her hand and kissed it with a practiced grace. "And you are?"

She gently withdrew her hand. "I am Penelope Von Bulow, I understand you made the acquaintance of ," she paused, "A colleague of mine, Madame Kali. I am one of the protégés of Helena Blavatsky of the Watkins Book Shop."

"Ah, Malcolm, I can see you have met my guest. May I claim her now for myself?" Vanessa came into the room with the commanding manner she carried off so easily.

"Of course," Sir Malcolm bowed again, "I hope to have the pleasure of your company again, soon, Miss Von Bulow." He left the room, and both Vanessa and Penelope began to laugh.

"I see we will have to become accustomed to being mistaken for one another," Vanessa said as she gestured Penelope to sit. "Sembene will bring in the tea cart shortly."

There was an awkward silence. To fill it, Penelope brought out her Tarot deck. I understand you are in possession of a most unusual Tarot deck. I use the Marseilles deck, myself, but if the deck Mr. Waite is designing proves desirable, I intend to switch to it. To tell the truth, I have never really cared for this deck, but it has served me well."

"May I?" Vanessa took the deck from her hand. "I will show you my deck after tea, and the spread I am accustomed to using. My deck is unusual, it is based on a dream I had. Some find it rather intimidating, but I think it is reflective of the self-conscience. Dreams can be dark, even fearful sometimes. I also am interested in Mr. Waite's deck, but I feel mine suits me."

When the African manservant brought in the tea, Penelope tried not to stare, though it was hard. The scarring on his face was obviously deliberate, and perhaps had marked a rite of manhood. She waited until he left then asked Vanessa, "The African, who is he?"

"Sembene is hard to explain. He is both servant and more than servant, and also friend. Sir Malcolm brought him back from his last expedition in quest of the source of the Nile. It turned out rather badly, I am afraid, and he has Sembene to thank for his survival." She handed her cards back to Penelope. "Sembene is indispensable, I do not see how we could get along without him."

Vanessa was adept at the social graces. She poured the tea as adeptly as any hostess, asking Penelope with she would like a slice of lemon with her Earl Grey. She brought out her deck of cards, the nightmarish purple deck decorated with snakes, scorpions, and other figures Penelope had never seen in a Tarot deck. The designs were primitive, almost caricatures, yet there was no doubt as to each card's meaning.

She spread the cards with an easy, practiced movement, then said, "Would you indulge me and pick a card?"

Penelope smiled, and leaned forward, scanning the cards with a practiced eye, then turned over a card and put it in the upright position.

"Ah, the High Priestess, yes, I see." Vanessa smiled at her, "The guardian of hidden knowledge."

"And of secrets," Penelope added quickly, "The card comes up so often in my readings that Helena now uses it as a designator card for me." She looked at Vanessa and saw her still smiling, but her expression had changed somehow. The same, yet not the same, she thought.

"Tell me, does he know your secret?" It was still Vanessa's face, and almost her voice, but she knew without a doubt someone or something other than her sat in Vanessa Ives' skin.

"What secret?" Penelope began to control her breathing as she stared at Vanessa with fascinated eyes. She knew the secret to which it referred. She intended to take things as far as it was safe in the hope that she could learn Vanessa's secret.

"Oh, you are too coy. Does Ethan know that you fornicate with Dorian Grey, that beautiful, mad mad boy. What would he think if he knew?"

"And how would I know if Ethan has intended to be faithful. He has not declared himself to me. Were that the case, my 'fornicating', as you put it, with Mr. Grey would stop." She leaned over the table towards Vanessa, "And now you answer my question, who are you? Or what are you? Whatever you are, I think you should be cast out, exorcised."

Vanessa hissed, " I am legion, I am far beyond your capabilities. I am what you fear."

"I have faced my fears, and come to terms with them. You are not the first I met to declare yourself so. You are not the devil, nor she the devil's bride. I will be watching you from now on, I have eyes that can see."

Vanessa blinked her eyes, and Penelope could see that she was in possession of herself once more. Did she know, could she hear it when she carried on the conversation with the Other?

"Your tea has gotten cold, let me pour you another cup. Vanessa took Penelope's cup and poured her a fresh one. What was she aware of? How had this come about? Many people with many secrets passed through the doors of Watkins Books to seek help for themselves or another. She wished that she had an intimate acquaintance with Vanessa Ives, for there were many questions she wished to ask her.


	8. The Yearnings of a Faithful Heart

I'm stopping this before ball because I want to bring in Angelique and see what kind of reaction "she" has to Penelope. I'm wondering if Angelique will understand the special nature of their friendship.

Penelope had a sudden urge to hypnotize Vanessa, and see if she could force the hidden spirit to reveal itself. She had little formal training as a mesmerist, but on occasion she had great success in her endeavors. Would it hurt to try?

But it could, she knew that. As a medium she sometimes dealt with malevolent spirits. She knew the damage that could result if one were accidentally unleashed and could not be contained. And she had the feeling that Vanessa knew exactly what she was dealing with, but did she realize what a dangerous game she played?

Ethan's appearance solved her dilemma. "Miss Ives, may I steal Miss Penelope from you and take her home?" Both knew what he really meant.

"Of course," said Vanessa. She was all control and courtesy, her tone cordial. Her voice was of a lower timber, and its notes fell pleasantly upon Penelope's ears. She liked Miss Vanessa Ives very much, she decided, and hoped that she could spend more time with her—and hobble her own deadly curiosity.

There was a look of distaste on Ethan's face when he saw Dorian's carriage waiting for her. "I had hoped that you would sever your connections with Dorian Grey," he said, but she shook her head.

"I cannot allow you to separate me from the company of a dear friend. He has been valuable when it came to helping me get you to safety during your transitions. He asks no questions, never demands anything in return, even when it is an inconvenience to him."

"Hmmm," was his only reply, other than to direct the coachman to take her to her flat.

"I have to go to Dorian's," she objected, "I have things there I wish to retrieve."

"I'll have the coachman deliver them to you. I am sure Dorian Gray won't object," he said, and that seemed to be that.

She had been away from her flat for some time, and each time she was absent, it was always a pleasure to return to its warmth. Ethan removed her cape, and she pulled the pins from her hat and pulled it off her hair. No sooner had she done so, then she felt Ethan take her by the arm and steer her into her bedroom.

She had forgotten what he felt like. He stripped off each piece of her clothing, pausing to caress her breast or her thigh. When the last article of her clothing was gone, he lay her on the bed and began to caress her with both hand and mouth. He continued to stroke her bare skin as he removed his clothes, then climbed on top of her and plunged deeply into her.

She held her breath, wondering if he'd notice, but he seemed to concentrate on making up for the time he'd missed with her. She cried out as he pushed himself into her, pulling away, then pushing again harder and harder, until at least both found a rhythm that continued until their passions were released and they collapsed from exhaustion.

He pulled away from her, drew a breath, then asked, "Who was it? I know your body, Penelope, you're no longer a virgin. Did you think to deceive me?"

"No," she sighed, "But I decided to say nothing unless you did. Will it truly do you any good to know?"

"It was Dorian Gray, wasn't it? Why?"

"Ethan, you do not own me, this you know for a fact. And yes, it was Dorian. I was having nightmares and he brought me into his bed to comfort me. Why he did it, I don't know. There is something of the mischievous little boy in him, and I think he is jealous of you."

She rolled over on her side, and slipped her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her. "Ethan, I love you, but we could not make this work. You need to be needed, you need to be the one that possesses the strength. You don't need to rescue me, and you want very badly to be the one who takes care of me, not the other way around. You don't know what to think of me, but that is all right. I cannot be your damsel in distress, but there is another who needs your help—and I think you know who she is. You can't have me in the way when there is an important task facing you."

"How you talk sometimes," he said, but both understood. She regretted what Dorian had done, and wished she could hold on to Ethan, but it was not to be. His anger was now spent. Both regretted that what they might have had was over, but both recognized the wisdom of her words.

He took her face in his big hands and kissed her. "If you are ever in trouble, Penelope, I will be there for you. I am forever grateful for the help you have given me. You are sweet, kind, wise, and beautiful, and I will always bless the day I ran into you at the London Zoo."

When he had shown himself to the door, she gave way to tears. She remembered something Dorian had told her. "You must not confuse rescuing Ethan with loving him. It is not the same thing, after all, and you deserve more."

"But what about you?" she had said, "You've always told me that I rescued you."

"And so I did," he replied, "But we are not in love. We are dear friends who are always there for each other. If you fancied yourself in love with me we would not be that way. I have shown you my darkest secret, and you are always there when I need you—and vice versa. You are too kind hearted, my dear, that is your problem, but I don't think I'd have you any other way."

"Thank you Dorian," she said as she wiped the tears away. She realized now that part of her love for Ethan had been the fact that he had needed her protection and help.

There was a knock at the door, and Dorian's coachman stood there with her trunk. "Just a moment," she said, and put on a navy silk dress, then directed him to take her to Dorian's.

The butler scarcely had time to remove her cape. She ran into the living room and Dorian held out his arms. "I'm so sorry, my dear, I know this was my fault. I was being selfish and..."

She put her finger on his lips and hushed him. "I think you were the instrument of fate, my dearest," she told him, "If my heart is broken, it is more like it is cracked, like a cup that is still used because it is a favorite. I was falling in love with someone I was rescuing—remember when you warned me of this? I forget sometimes that the only person I truly wish to belong to is myself."

"So I passed on actual words of wisdom to you? My god, I don't think anyone would accuse me of that who knew me well—and that person would be you. Let's see, we should celebrate this somehow. I haven't thrown a ball in a long time. Why don't you put your dress maker to work and have her fashion something that looks like it could belong to Jenny Randolph? Do your hair like hers, and I just might have a surprise for you."

Penelope kissed him. There was no way she would ever stay angry, or even become angry, at Dorian. He had remarked once on how alike in temperament they could be, and she did not disagree. And a copy of Lady Randolph's gown? That would be delicious. Maybe Dorian would have diamonds set in stars to wear in her hair.

She wandered around the room, looking at the paintings, then an idea struck her. "Dorian, I want to see your painting." She picked up a candelabra.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yes," she replied, "I don't think the picture likes me very much, it just tolerates me. But I'm looking for something, and I need to see it. Oh, I can't explain."

"Come on then," he took her arm, "You have that look. You have an idea you can't let go of until you take care of it."

They went in silence down the corridor to where he kept his picture. He sat down, and . almost out of habit, put her on his lap. And watched her.

He did not think it possible that she could see things in it that he could not, but she could. She was almost trembling as she examined the picture. He could hear her murmur, "Come on, come on, I know you're there," as she leaned forward as if to get a better look.

Finally she sat back, leaning against him. "Dorian, it must have been a powerful magic that brought this painting to be, yet of all the people that I know, you are the least drawn to magic."

"Someone gave me a book, once, a long time ago. It wasn't about magic, but it was very powerful. And shortly after that the painting came to life."

"Do you still have the book?"

"No, I destroyed it a long time ago, such things should not be kept, or even read. What are you looking for?"

"The secret to discover that which is hidden. Something's happening, but I don't know to whom, just yet. There's someone I have to visit, to set things even between us. She's very powerful, though I call her a fake. I can sense evil, Dorian, evil. And someone is in danger because this someone means her great harm."

"I have always wondered about my powers, suppressed them, even. I know if I let them loose, I am a power to be reckoned with. Taking care of Ethan was so easy, I didn't have to use anything but knowledge, but I am facing a choice now. Am I willing to do battle with evil, risk my life, maybe even my soul?"

"If it puts you at risk, then don't. No one is worth my losing my Penelope."

"But what if it is a noble cause to save this person, or persons, perhaps? Haven't I been given my powers for a purpose? To tell a few fortunes here and there is one thing, but what if I am meant to risk my life? What if I am to pitch my evil against theirs?"

"I'm scared, Dorian, I'm scared, but this seems like something I am meant to do, to redeem the utterly hedonistic life I have led."

"If you want advice from a friend who loves you, then I will tell you this, don't do anything until after the ball. I will even pay for your dress so that when you enter the room, everyone will be dazzled at the very sight of you. And maybe then, you'll turn your attentions to more frivolous pursuits and give up this crazy idea of risking your life. Now, since your wolf no longer wants you, let's go to bed."

He covered the painting and took her hand and led her from the room.


	9. The Storm Before the Calm

For those of you who wonder where Angelique is, well, in this story, Dorian never meets her. I realized that she did not fit into the storyline, and as much as I wanted her, I had to let her go. I had planned to include her, but it did not work out that way. However, Brona will be making her appearance—as Lily—soon.

Penelope slowly opened her eyes, turned over to look at Dorian and then realized he wasn't there.

She looked around and saw the red wallpaper of her room, along with the velvet and lace curtains. "I spent the night at home," she said to herself, "I am on my own for the first time in days." This thought gave her a small, triumphant feeling.

She adored Dorian, and would no doubt soon be back with him, but she had tired of being taken care of. True, she had needed his help with Ethan, for which she had been very grateful. And when Ethan had severed their relationship, Dorian had been there for comfort, as he always was.

She wiped away a tear as she thought of Ethan's loss. She had been very fond of him, was perhaps even in love with him, but Ethan was not who she needed. And she was too resourceful and independent to appeal to Ethan for long. Perhaps because his secret revealed a weakness, he compensated by wanting to feel needed. Protection, help, understanding, it did not matter, Ethan needed to be needed.

And with the two of them, the situation was reversed. He had been dependent upon her now for two cycles of the full moon. She had finally realized it was time; however, that Ethan found a way to help himself.

"You needed to break away from him, my darling," Dorian told her, "Would you want the rest of your life to consist of saving Ethan from himself during the full moon? You wouldn't be able to stop his transitioning. It's time for him to help himself. I don't want to see him drain you."

And he was right. She had never been more exhausted than she felt now. She could still do her readings and her sittings, but Dorian had watched her grow more pale and drawn as she became more enmeshed in Ethan's predicament. She was chronically tired, did not sleep well, and was barely able to eat. All because of Ethan's werewolf curse.

"No more werewolves," she told herself, no draining myself and my energies into their problems. I should have learned this from last time. I cannot rescue anyone and why do I always try?"

She heard a soft knocking at the door, and Mary came in, bearing a tray full of food. She had an appetite, she discovered, and she tucked into fresh rolls, eggs, orange juice, along with the black tea she was so fond of. And she was rested; she did not remember the last time she had slept so well. She had enough energy to do the readings and sittings she had promised Madame Blavatsky she would do today. When had she last felt so—well?

Her tub was far smaller than Dorian's, but her bath felt refreshing. Mary dressed her and did her hair, then brought her the caplet she planned to wear on her walk. She had just enough time before her lunch to stretch her legs. Her afternoon would be spent at Watkins, doing readings for some new clients.

She waved aside Mary's offer to accompany her and was about to step out the door when the first pains hit. Her stomach felt as if someone had slammed their fist into it, then almost immediately after her head hurt so badly that it felt as if she had been hit by a large club.

The signs of a new spirit, a malignant one, wanting to make its presence known. She held onto the door jamb for dear life, calling for Mary. "A glass of water, and no more than two drops of laudanum. Quickly Mary, please, something is terribly wrong."

Mary helped her mistress to the sofa, then sped off to get the opium. Penelope listened for a voice, a clue, anything, to help her determine what was happening. When Mary returned with the water, she took it and drank it down, then lay back, waiting to see what would happen.

No voice, but a light seemed to blind her. Something was playing with her, teasing her, "I am here," it seemed to say, "But I will not let you find me, not just yet."

Though it hurt, though it made her nauseous to try, she brought all her capabilities to try to focus her attentions on the elusive spirit, and bring it to bear. The laudanum, the dose only strong enough to relax her and help fend off the pain, was working now, and she felt her muscles start to loosen, the cramping eased, and she was finally able to control her breathing.

Mary took her caplet without a word, there would be no morning walk. She could walk part of the way to Watkin's and then take a cab. The spirit was slowly releasing her, though a small, persistent pain echoed in her skull, reminding her that perhaps her ordeal was not finished.

At two-fifteen sharp, a knock came at the door. Dorian stood there, smiling. "Why don't you let take you to your bookstore?" he asked, "I had luncheon with some friends and found myself passing through your neighborhood. You're looking much better, dear, but bless me, have you a headache? Your eyes have that bruised look to them. You must let me take you to supper tonight, I insist."

Dorian's seemingly unknown telepathic abilities had saved her. "All right, you win. I spent a lovely night in my own bed, but this morning I think a spirit attacked me. I will consult with someone at the bookstore, this was really quite frightening."

"I don't think I've ever heard you say that before," he looked at her as if he was a doctor, examining a patient to diagnose their illness. "I'd expected you to look much better, no, more rested, please don't take offense, dear, but you do not look quite right. What happened?"

She explained to him in detail the nature of the attack. "This has only happened to me once before, but that time I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying in an alleyway in North London. How I got there I still don't know. I swear, it was the bells of St. Mary Le Bow that brought me out of whatever had happened. I've been fond of that church ever since. "

"I swear, it happened the same way, a blow to my stomach, then my head hurt so badly I could not see, and then that bright light. My limbs cramped horribly, but there were no voices, no images, nothing. I was fairly new as a practicing medium, so I just assumed a spirit had chosen that way to make its presence known. No one at Watkins really knew what had happened to me when I told them, I was so certain I could find an answer there. That's the day I learned that there are no answers, only questions."

Dorian guided her into the carriage. "Are you going to be all right?" She looked at him, nodded her head. "You are going to tell someone about this, aren't you? I'm a little frightened for you. I would not want to have your gift, Penelope, and to hear you've been attacked?" He shook his head.

"Well, I think it is going to take something more than dinner to put your mind at ease. I have chosen a date for my soiree, it's going to be on the next full moon. I'm calling the Full Moon Ball. Not very clever or original, but to the point."

She looked at him, strickened, "Dorian, no…"

He put two fingers on her cheek. "Darling, this is exactly what you need. It is no longer your task to aid and abet Ethan. You must stop yourself from trying to save him, and concentrate instead on saving yourself. Let's see, Miss Penelope Von Bulow, I prescribe for you…" He looked straight at her, "Some fun." He held up a piece of folded paper, "I have a sketch of the latest gown worn by Lady Churchill. A friend of mine was at a party she attended last night, and he made the sketch for me. I am going to surprise you, and have a copy made for the night of the ball. You can thank me later."

She threw herself into his arms and rested there. "You are too good to me, Dorian."

He waited, patiently, for her as she did her consultations and readings. She was not quite on when she tried to do her sittings, and told her clients she must reschedule. When she was done, she sat with Madame Blavatsky and Florence Cook, explaining what had happened to her, leaving out no detail. Florence tried to do a sitting to detect the spirit, but with no success.

"Nothing but silence, my dear, that's what I'm getting. If this was as bad as you say, I would make sure I was not alone, not until we can solve this mystery. I am puzzled that this happened so long ago, and has just now re-occurred. Perhaps your young man would consent to watch over you."

He's not my young man, she wanted to say, but Dorian put his arm on her shoulders and said, "My dear Mrs. Cook, I will consider it my sacred duty to watch over her." He smiled, that maddening, glorious smile that so enchanted those that did not know him better. "Penelope, you had better move back in with me for a while."

She rolled her eyes. She had lost her freedom after just achieving it. _Helpless again, she thought, why, when I want so to be independent does he draw me somehow in?_

Mary fetched some of her clothes, but Penelope would not entrust anyone with her pendulums, stones, and crystal ball. She did not like making this retreat, but she felt safe under Dorian's care. That old, odd bond they had. There were no words to describe it, it had to be felt and only she and Dorian could feel it.

Most nights she slept in Dorian's bed, though sometimes she retreated to a room upstairs where no one cared to go. He seemed so possessive these days, she had been right in guessing at his jealousy of Ethan. If it bothered her, still it seemed to serve her well. He would not look at his picture unless she accompanied him. He was at her side when she went to Watkin's Bookstore to meet with her clients, and the spirit seemed content to leave her alone.

And despite her misgivings, she was able to help him with preparations for the ball. It would be held in the large drawing room, and supper would take place in the formal dining room just off it. He would not reveal her gown until the night of the party, but the hairdresser had come, and with the help of a picture, was able to show Mary how best to dress her mistress' hair so it looked exactly like Lady Randolph's.

Dorian came home one day with a small velvet box that he presented to her. Inside, set in white gold, were stars set with diamonds, cut so they caught the light from the chandeliers.

"Two for your dress, one for your hair," he explained as he pinned them on her. You will be the envy of every woman in the room. Even Vanessa Ives will wish she looked like you."

"But she does, Dorian, too close for my comfort. I wish Vanessa were not plagued with devils of her own, I would consult with her about mine. But alas, I cannot, I must solve this mystery on my own, it seems." She grew quiet and for a while would not say anything.

The next day a stack of invitations were delivered for his inspection. Dorian would invite as many people as possible, but still he was fastidious about those whom he did invite. Idly, she began to flip through the envelopes, taking a mental inventory in her mind as to who would come and those who would RSVP "No."

At first the names seemed expected and mundane, then the name "Mrs. Eveline Poole and Daughters" caught her eye. "What?" She whispered out loud, "Why invite her?" It made her feel only a little better to see Madame Blavatsky and Florence Cook included. They would come as a favor to her, if for no other reason. Hopefully Dorian had not planned sittings, for she would not be able to gracefully refuse.

"Victor Frankenstein and Guest." She jumped up and ran to where Dorian sat drinking his coffee. She waved the envelope in front of him. "Why him? Why? He's my cousin, Dorian, and I try so hard to keep people from knowing. And "Guest"? Who's his guest, he knows no one save Professor Murray and Vanessa Ives. He has no friends, he's well, very socially awkward."

He caught her hand, held it, "I'm inviting him as a favor to Professor Murray and Miss Ives. Evidently his cousin is visiting him and…"

"Dorian, I'm his only living family, and I'm only a second cousin. There is no other cousin but me. Who did you hear this from?"

"From Miss Ives. " At this she jumped up. "Penelope, what on earth is wrong?"

"I'm going to see Vanessa Ives. Something is horribly wrong. Is your carriage ready?"

"Yes, of course. Take as long as you like, I'll see you when you get home." He gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek, patted her on the back. "Go. Solve your mystery." He settled back into examining his invitations.

Fortunately for Penelope, Vanessa was "at home." The little Victorian conventions, like presenting of one's card, served well those unfortunate females who convention confined to often to their homes. The wrong name on a card, and immediately a headache, or news that they had just left to make a duty call would save them.

She sat and watched as Vanessa spread the cards. She wondered how she could move them so smoothly into place. She certainly did not have that talent. She had the client shuffle, then hand the cards back to her, which she cut into three separate stacks. She then dealt the cards, while Vanessa had her clients pick the cards, which somehow worked out the same. The sight of Vanessa spreading the cards was impressive, and she wished she possessed such a deft hand.

She picked for cards. The Queen of Wands reversed, the Devil, the Falling Tower reversed, then the one good card, the Chariot.

"This is very strange, Vanessa, this card, the Queen of Wands, where did she come from? The Devil, the Falling Tower, there is a message in these three cards, but the Chariot does not fit." She drew two more cards, the Knight of Wands, and the Knight of Swords, both in the reverse position.

"Hmm, this is not good." She tapped the Knight of Wands card, this is someone I know, she thought, and suddenly she had an idea.

"Vanessa, did Victor Frankenstein tell you that he had a cousin?"

"Why yes," said Vanessa slowly, "He asked me to go shopping with him so that he could pick out some clothes for her."

"Vanessa, my brother and I are Victor's only cousins, second or third I believe. His father had a brother, but he died at a very young age. His father died of consumption some years before his mother did. His mother is distantly related to my brother and I, as far as I know my brother and I are his closest living relatives. There could be no cousin who is coming to visit him, and if I know Victor, there is no woman he has hidden any knowledge of. This card," she held up the Queen of Wands, "Is someone he has a connection to, but I'm damned if I know what it is."

Vanessa took the card and put her hand over it. "It's cold, I can detect nothing."

"And that is not as it should be. He will bring her to Dorian's ball, whoever she is. I do not have a good feeling about this. I make it a point to never speak to my brother unless I have to, but this he should know about. I wonder what our dear cousin has been up to?"


	10. Pygmalian and Galatea

Penelope woke and stretched, noticing that her muscles felt sore, then looked over at culprit's dark head on the other pillow. Dorian had thoroughly enjoyed himself with her last night, too thoroughly.

"I can't have you distracting me," he grinned at her puckishly, "Unless you want me to drag you into a closet…"

She'd pushed his head away. Well, she'd enjoyed herself, too. It was funny how they could be lovers, but not a couple. She was not in love with him, a little jealous at times, but no, not in love.

She liked to watch him sleep like this. The little worry lines on his face seemed to disappear, leaving only the odd, eerie beauty that even on first impression had seemed unnatural. She could remember the way she had felt when she first touched his hands: nothing, no impressions, no feelings.

"What are you?" She had thought. Not a demon, not an angel, human, yet not human. It had intrigued her, it was a relief to hold a hand that did not send her its owner's innermost thoughts. Sometimes the thoughts were unwelcome, but holding hands with Dorian seemed almost a relaxation, a rest.

She nestled into her pillow, careful not to wake him. No, you're not having me again, not until after the party, she thought, then wondered idly, can he father a child on me? It was not the first time she had considered such thoughts, she had known Dorian since she was eighteen and would soon be twenty four. Can he even father children? So far it had not happened. Did he pay a price for his unnaturally long life? Impotent he was not, but sterile? Maybe. It would seem to fit, but if that was true, then she felt sorry for him.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, then reached for her.

She pulled away, playfully. "No, not until after the party. I want to be able to walk." He threw back his head and laughed, that contagious laugh she loved. She could not stay mad at him, it was impossible.

He gave her a roguish look, "No, we cannot have that, there is too much to do before tonight. Mrs. Stirling can take care of most of the decorations, but you are the only one I trust to dress the table. You have such an exquisite way with flowers."

"Thank you, and I will have a surprise for you, but I shan't reveal it until just before the party. I found it in a shop, and I haven't seen anything like it in any other house we've visited. It's beautiful and different, in a quiet way. I hope to set a new trend."

"Well, your dress and those feminine underthings you so love, will arrive this afternoon. If you are not the most beautifully dressed tonight, Mr. Worth will have disappointed me. You, as always, will be the most beautiful in the room tonight, at least as far as I am concerned."

"You have never disappointed me, I always feel like a beautiful doll when you dress me. Who will have first bath, Dorian, you or me? It had better be you, unless we share the tub, which will not be a good idea." It wasn't, but soon she was able to send him off and send for her maid to dress her.

She put on her new black suit. The unusual cut, the way she looked in it, gave her courage, and courage she certainly seemed to require. There was something about this party, something about this coming night that seemed, well, off. The old warning, the one she knew so well was ringing in her ears. Tonight she was especially glad that Madame Blavatsky and Florence Cook were coming, even if it might mean readings being done. She needed her shields, and they would be glad to play the part.

"That suit looks so lovely on you, you ought to order a coat for it, it if you're tired of wearing your fur cape." Dorian came into the room and handed her some checks. "If you wouldn't mind running by my haberdasher, I'd appreciate it. There's a check for the florist, I know you want to make sure he's gotten the flowers right. And the last one is for the apothecary, I ordered some things for you from Farmacia di Santa Maria Novella in Florence, and had it delivered there. And don't ask what's in it, it's a surprise."

She took Dorian's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you." It was her favorite place in Florence, "I like to just go in there and breathe," she had told him once. She said nothing for a moment, their eyes meeting each other in the mirror. "Dorian, if there were any way to cancel this, I'd insist on it. Something is feeling very, well, wrong. Something's going to happen, but I can't see it. Maybe it's the full moon, I don't know."

"Is it because you miss your wolf?" Dorian put his arm carefully around her to give her reassurance.

"Well, yes, and no. If he came it would not be for me, it would be for Vanessa Ives, but I've accepted that. No more rescuing lost causes! It's like, though, I'm hearing voices I can't understand. I always thought that your paintings would talk, but they don't, not even your picture. There's something waiting that is quite out of my control. I know a part of you is skeptical of my powers, but you know they're real. It's like something teasing me, keeping just out of my reach. I might go see Florence and Helena, if the bookshop is open."

"You are normally so fearless, and you are sounding afraid, my dear. I don't like that. I will be here to protect you, along with your two bulldogs." His name for Helena and Florence made her smile." If it's Madam Kali, you've always told me you are a match for her, especially since she does not know it. Be brave, my darling, and concentrate on having a good time. There is no place for fears tonight."

"All right," she said, and kissed him, "I must go, there is so much to do before I can bathe and dress for tonight."

Penelope glanced at her watch. Time was always in short supply, a commodity there was never enough of. She'd run Dorian's errands, and now she wanted to go up to the bookstore and make sure that Helena and Florence would attend. Thank goodness Dorian was so generous with his carriage, no, she deserved his generosity she decided. One more night like the previous and she would never allow him in her bed again.

Just as she was about to enter the Watkins, a tall, handsome man smiled and tipped his hat at her. My, she thought as she watched him walk away, someone ordinary, but at the same time extraordinarily handsome, more so even than Ethan and Dorian. What would it be like, she wondered, to be with someone who carried no supernatural baggage. Someone…normal.

She was still watching after him when the door to the bookshop swung open. She stepped away just in time as a customer hurried out with his bundle.

"That was a close call," said Madame Blavatsky, "You could have had quite the nasty bump on the head." She peered at Penelope, inspecting her closely, "No, not even a scratch, but you must be more careful my dear." She took Penelope's arm, dragging her into the shop, "I was just telling Arthur that he would finally get to meet the mysterious Dorian Grey. We've been asked to do readings at the party tonight, some other entertainment for the guests if they tire of dancing or eating. I was surprised when Arthur received an invitation, too, but it was quite fortuitous, I am sure."

They went to the back room and Penelope sank gratefully into a chair. Madame poured her a cup of tea from the samovar, then one for herself. "I wanted to make sure you and Florence were coming tonight, and if Arthur comes too that is all the better. Since Dorian seems bent on making it the event of the year, it will be nice to have some friendly faces. Vanessa Ives and Professor Murray will be coming, but Dorian took it into his head to invite Evelyn Poole. I don't trust her, not for a minute, it will be nice to have other eyes watching her, too."

"Why are you so worried, child?" the Russian's dark eyes stared into her own.

"Because I can't forget what happened the other day. That hasn't happened in a long time, and I still don't know why. And I believe that if our Madame Kali was not behind it, I think someone close to her was. I don't need to tell you how I feel about her, I'm grateful she doesn't frequent the shop. But she's evil and all that goes with it. With you, Arthur, and Florence I won't feel quite so vulnerable. I don't want to be there alone tonight."

She came back to Dorian's to find Mary filling her bath, fragrant with one of the oils from the Farmacia. Under Dorian's supervision boxes were being carried in and placed in her bedroom. Each was opened and held up for her inspection.

Dorian had outdone himself. Her undergarments were made in black and trimmed with black ribbons and lace, even her corset, shifts, and petticoats. The dress was saved for last, and Penelope gasped with surprise as she watched the gown pulled gently out of the box.

The watered silk that made up the dress was a dark magenta, trimmed lavishly with black lace. The décolletage was deep, and revealing, but it set off the hue of her creamy skin. Dorian held it up to her and she turned this way and that, gazing at herself in the mirror. Much better than black, she decided. Her diamond stars, one each placed on her shoulders, would look well against the black lace, and the last pinned carefully in her hair would complete the picture. He'd done well, everyone would notice her tonight, and the thought pleased her.

She sighed, they made a handsome couple, so much so that some mistook them for husband and wife. There was an irony in that, somehow. Dorian was the last man who would want to be a husband, and he was the last man she'd choose for one. But there was a freedom in being with him, a freedom to live a sort of dissolute life that seemed to suit her. She had discovered quite young that she was attractive to men, Dorian had taught her to play it to her advantage.

"Something for you," said Dorian, and pulled out a jewelry box and handed it to her. Inside was a choker of garnets and diamonds, with matching earrings. He held an earring up to her ear. "If you don't like them, we can send them back tomorrow, but please wear them tonight."

"Since when would my greed allow me to return them?" She put a slender hand on his cheek, "You are forgiven for last night, but I do feel I earned them." They both laughed, and he squeezed her around the waist.

"I will leave you to your toilette, but by the time Mary is done with you I will no doubt be so dazzled that I shall hardly be able to see. I leave you in her capable hands."

When she first set foot on the stairway, Dorian looked up, obviously pleased with his handiwork. She felt like a beautiful doll, a suitable decoration for his arm and companion for the coming night. The suffragette inside her wasn't pleased, but who could not like such an exquisite gown and her perfectly dressed hair. To look this way gave her confidence, who could truly blame her if she took comfort in her beauty?

"I feel like Galatea," she smiled at him, "I am no statue made of ivory, but I am your creation, none the less."

"Then I must be Pygmalian, and my creation is no less than ravishing, you will be the envy of every woman here tonight, mark my words."

"I would be happier to be coveted by every man, at the least the handsome ones," she tapped him on the arm with her fan. "Come and see my surprise, I've waited all day to show you."

"Champagne first," he said, and motioned for a servant to bring him two glasses. He tapped the rim of the crystal glass against hers, "To Penelope and her freedom, no more a slave to trying to rescue the hopeless."

"I'll drink to that, and to no more wolves in either of our lives, unless they are in cages in the zoo." She laughed and he joined in. The evening was going to be perfect.

She led him to the dining room. "See, this is my surprise, how do you like it?"

He had never seen a table dressed like this before. The china was of a palest blue, like the moon, trimmed in silver filigree along its edges. She had lain gossamer ribbons of the same color along the table, and the salvers that held the flowers were of silver. The flowers, bunches of hydrangea, carnation, mums, and roses were white, accentuating the table cloth. He had never seen a table dressed this way, and he was sure it would be the talk of London the next day.

He took her hand in his, "It's lovely, wherever did you find the china?"

"In Chinatown, I was surprised to see it, so I bought all the proprietor had. Don't worry, it's good China, but it cost you far less than Limoges. I'm so glad you liked it. I thought it was perfect for the occasion."

He kissed her gloved hand, and they went out into the main room to wait for the coming guests. He motioned to a servant who brought two more glasses.

"For our courage," he said, and kissed her on the lips. She removed a black glove and carefully rubbed off the lip rouge. He laughed and kissed her hand.

It was not long before the guests started arriving. The first were friends of Dorian, who had many such friends, and it was not necessary that she do any more than smile and allow her hand to be kissed. She wondered when Madame and Florence would arrive, but she need not worry, they would be true to their word.

A steady stream of people began to arrive. Few were fashionably late to a party thrown by Dorian Grey. Finally, Professor Malcolm Murray arrived, accompanied by Vanessa and Evelyn Poole. The latter she ignored, but though Vanessa was looking lovely in a black lace gown, she was pale and thin, much more than was usual. She kissed her and whispered, "Are you all right, my dear?" and Vanessa squeezed her hand. All right enough, the gesture said.

Malcolm Murray bowed low over her and kissed her hand. "You are easily the loveliest woman in the room tonight, my dear. We have missed you sorely, please feel free to come and visit, any day or time will do." If she had had doubts about him, she did not now. She looked at Evelyn Poole and noticed that she was not pleased. So much the better. She would not take her hand in greeting, but merely nodded her head.

They disappeared into the crowd and Professor Lyle took their place. "Could I be any more charmed, no, I could not. It has been a long time since you came to the museum. I have a _private_ library that was gifted to me. I am sure you would enjoy looking at it. I trust you still read ancient Greek?"

The odd little man was trying to tell her something. "Fluently," she assured him, "And classic Latin. I think I might still be able to read hieroglyphics and hieratic. I would be delighted to come to the museum, I look forward to it." Now what was that about she thought as he bowed and joined the guests milling around the room. He was trying to tell her something, but what, she did not know. She had become so engaged with the shop that she no longer knew what was happening in the demi monde. She must remedy that.

She did not like the look Evelyn Poole was sending her way. Was the woman jealous of the attentions of Professor Murray? Was she trying to convey contempt, or a sort of warning that she should be wary of her.

A strange, dark haired girl had come to the head of the receiving line. Who was she. As if anticipating the question, she announced herself, "Hecate Poole, daughter of Evelyn Poole, I am very grateful for the invitation."

"Welcome, then," Dorian, and kissed her hand. She placed her hand in Penelope's and she was shocked to feel the jolt of energy pulse through her arm. Penelope could do little more than stare at her, wondering why she was here, for she only vaguely knew that Mrs. Poole had children.

Hecate placed her lips to her ear, "We must talk alone, and soon, I will tell you more later." Penelope could only nod dumbly. Hecate did not seem a threat, but she wondered if she were responsible for the spell that had taken hold of her. Hecate gave her hand a parting squeeze and joined the other guests.

She looked around, anxiously, where were her friends from Watkins. Ready to give in to anxiety, she smiled as she saw them come into the room.

"Such a beauty," Helena Blavatsky gushed, for Penelope was her favorite of her proteges. "Florence, Arthur, does she not look so lovely."

"Exceedingly," Arthur Waite bent over her hand and kissed it, "You show up all the others in the room. We did not fail you," he said as if he guessed her apprehension, "We are here for you, as always."

He's in love with her, thought Dorian, but she does not reciprocate. She loved Ethan, but he betrayed her in the end, I will make sure that does not happen again. If you can, a voice echoed him.

There was no sign of Victor. Penelope began to breathe a sigh of relief. She did not wish to see her cousin, or this "cousin" of his. Don't come, Victor, she prayed, stay away so that I may have a perfect evening.

She turned to Dorian, ready to tell him that no one would surely be coming, when she saw the familiar think figure with the light brown curls, dressed uncharacteristically in evening clothes, accompanied by a tall woman with brown hair so light it was almost golden. The mysterious cousin, dressed in palest pink and looking like she would prefer to be anywhere else.

"Here goes," Penelope breathed, and put a smile on her face.


	11. The Post Modern Prometheus

I keep trying to conclude this chapter, but it's not happening. I keep seeing more and more of what might be happening at Dorian's party. Hopefully I can bring it to a conclusion in the next installment.

Please, if you are enjoying it let me know. I value all my readers, but I need numbers so I can compare myself to other writers here.

I somewhat deliberately plagiarized the title from the X Files episode, "The Post Modern Prometheus. I just like the way it sounded—too much, I agree, but I don't think I could have come up with a better title

Victor and his guest were not the last in the receiving line, but among the stragglers who had come late, hoping to still be greeted by the hosts. He looked surprisingly well in evening dress, even with his awkwardly arranged tie. So much for hoping that her cousin would not be able to attend.

His companion, his "cousin" was lovely, but had a hard look in her blue eyes. Her lace trimmed gown of pink satin was modestly cut, something that made her stand out. She was unnaturally pale, and the hand she reluctantly extended to Penelope was cold as ice, like something from the grave. She smiled flirtatiously at Dorian, but the look she gave her was full of malice. How could the seemingly oblivious Victor not notice?

She must quiz him, as soon as she could. There was something not natural about this woman. Since discovering he was in London, she had found reason to be suspicious of him. Knowing his awkward financial situation, her brother had thoughtfully offered him a position at the charity hospital. The salary would not have made him rich, but it would have been adequate to maintain him at a certain level of comfort. Penelope had seen his living situation and had been quite shocked when Victor had haughtily refused her brother's offer.

Victor took her hand and kissed it. "It is good to see you, Cousin Penelope, may I introduce you to Lily?"

Penelope inclined her head. At least he did not have the effrontery to introduce this stranger as his cousin. As the creature cast a venous look in her direction, Penelope gave her a look, summoning the power she used so seldom, to let her know she was someone that would not be good to cross. The woman blinked and stepped back. Now you know, thought Penelope.

Victor and his partner hurried off, much to her relief. That woman, what was she? Whatever she was, she was not a creature of this world, or belonged here. And Penelope could feel she was dangerous, a threat. She must find out who she was, even if she must hurt Victor, if necessary, to make him talk.

"What was that about?" asked Dorian softly, "She's upset you, and I felt you…"

"Yes, I did, I had to. She was trying to threaten me, I had to let her know that was not a good idea. There is something unnatural about her, and I mean to find out what it is. I will torture Victor if I have to, if it is the only way I can get the truth. I know she would hurt me if she could, and she also covets you."

"Coveting will do her no good," he said, "I find I much prefer brunettes," and took her hand and led her to the center of the room. The band began to play a waltz, and the host and hostess began the first dance, a striking couple, noted many of the guests.

When they finished, Sir Malcolm came and claimed her for a dance. "May I tell you again how exquisitely lovely you look?" he asked her, and she smiled.

"As many times as you like," she dimpled, "Tell me, Sir Malcolm, where did you make the acquaintance of Evelyn Poole?"

"The night of Sir Lyle's party, though we were not formally introduced. I met her again at a gun shop, of all places.'

"Sir Lyle's party? Well, it could have been me you met there. I was going to sit for him, but something came up. Actually, Dorian asked me if I wouldn't rather go to the opera that night, so I turned Sir Lyle down. He's a peculiar little man, but well-meaning for all that."

He nodded in agreement, "I find him rather odd, myself, but he has a wealth of information on ancient Egypt, both the usual and the exotic."

"Yes, I make use of his resources sometimes," she was going to continue, but the music cut off, and Sir Lyle came to claim her.

She set aside all formalities. "What is going on, Sir Lyle? Why is Evelyn Poole with Sir Malcolm. And Vanessa is looking ghastly—I am worried about her. There is something terribly wrong about this whole situation, and I think our 'Madame Kali' may be at the heart of it."

"I would not trouble myself about it, Miss Von Bulow, I am certain it is only because Sir Malcolm enjoys the company of a woman so close to his own age. I am sure he finds her most_ suitable."_

Sir Lyle seemed distracted, she thought. She glanced over at Evelyn Poole and saw that she seemed to maneuver Sir Malcolm's attentions so that they focused on her. How did he find a way to steal a dance with her, she wondered. What was the notorious Madame Kali playing at? Did she want Sir Malcolm's money? That might be a motive, but she had never seemed to lack for cash.

"What are you to her, Sir Lyle? What role does she have you playing? We both know our Madame Kali is more than she appears."

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Von Bulow," he said as the music ended, and hurried off into the crowd.

Dorian came and put his arm around her waist. A servant walked by with a tray of champagne glasses, and he took one for each of them. "What are you doing?" he whispered, "I thought you would take the night off."

"I thought so too, but somehow your guests are keeping me occupied. I must go find Vanessa, there is something I wish to ask her."

"You are thinking too much, my dearest. Don't." He kissed her cheek before he released her; but she could feel his eyes following her as she went in search of Vanessa.

Someone else was watching her-Lily. Did you see that, Lily? she thought. He's not yours for the taking, you can be as jealous as you like. Her blue grey eyes stared hard into Lily's, and she looked away. I don't know what you are, but I'm going to find out, I will make Victor talk to me if I have to.

She wandered idly through the room, looking for Vanessa. The kinship she felt with her extended to more than their extraordinary resemblance. Vanessa was more powerful than perhaps even she knew. A part of Vanessa rejected her gift, Penelope had embraced it. If there was evil within her, she had come to terms with it long ago. Vanessa, on the other hand, didn't seem to want to embrace it, but rather reject it. Will you ever accept it, Vanessa, will you always fight it, or will you use it as your shield as I do?

She caught a glimpse of the black lace gown, then the almost wraith like figure that Vanessa had become. She hurried over to her side and took her hand, her poor cold hand. "Walk with me," she said softly. She stopped for a moment and took two glasses of champagne off a tray. "For courage," she told her.

She led Vanessa to the room that Dorian called her "study," for it contained her cards and her stones, her crystals, her incense and the crystal ball she had studiously been avoiding of late. "Very impressive," Vanessa said softly, no sarcasm meant in her words. The room had a different, lighter feel than the rest of Dorian's house, this was a place Penelope had made her own.

"May I ask you a favor, Vanessa? One which will sound strange, but there is a purpose in what I ask you."

"Of course," Vanessa patted her hand. She could feel the urgency in Penelope's words. Somehow the two were connected, and a bond, though not cultivated, existed between them.

"Victor's companion, well, I am suspicious of her. First of all, I wonder where she came from. The ruse of her being his cousin was ill thought. Almost everyone in London knows I have a connection with Dorian, and coming to this party did not display good judgement. Calling her his cousin was unwise."

"There is something about her, Vanessa, that is terribly wrong. I don't want to tell you what I felt just yet, but I want to hear your impressions and see if they are similar to mine. Can you please go to Victor and ask him to introduce you to her, and try to find a way to touch her, or shake her bare hand if she allows it? I think she is something unnatural, she makes me feel uneasy. Already she is hostile towards me, because of Dorian, I think. She wants him and she can see he is with me. There is something about her which is not right, please see what you can discern."

"Of course. Our good doctor has no reason to harbor any suspicions towards me. I shall try to find out what I can. I am a little concerned that he would choose to introduce her as his cousin if there is no family connection. Perhaps, as you say, he is hiding something, in which case I would wish to find out what."

They strolled, arm in arm, back into the main room. Penelope sought out Dorian, as she so often did when she needed reassurance, and saw Vanessa casually approaching Victor and his companion. She shook Victor's hand, then his companion's gloved one. She then placed her hand on Lily's bare arm, and said something which seemed to confuse her. She took her leave and came to Penelope and whispered, "Yes, you're right, something is not quite right. She's unnaturally cold, like the dead. I tried to read her mind and there was nothing, nothing to indicate I was talking to a living person. Yes, something is very wrong with her but I am not sure what and," she added, "If it matters, Victor introduced her to me as his cousin."

There was no time to reply. The party was summoned to dinner. Penelope and Dorian drawing attention from the guests as they made their way into the dining room. Vanessa watched as Lily stared at Penelope all through supper, paying little attention to Victor.

So that's how it is, she thought, Poor Victor, but poor Lily, she would be wise to stay out of the way of my doppelganger.

Dorian was a master at entertaining, and supper lasted no longer than it should. Tonight the gentlemen did not retire to a drawing room to enjoy cigars and port. Instead, the guests returned to the tidied up parlor, and took up where they had left off. Dancing is always more entertaining than smoking a cigar and drinking port, Dorian liked to say.

The three psychics had set up in different corners of the room and began their work. Waite's silky good looks drew the younger ladies, eager for an excuse to speak with the handsome psychic. Florence and Helena were drawing customers, too, many of whom had heard of the infamous Florence Cook and her familiar, Katy Gray.

"Lily" was a member of the crowd around Florence, much to Victor's chagrin. After a waltz with Dorian, Penelope had seated herself on a sofa next to Vanessa, taking in every detail. Victor thought psychics charlatans, but Lily's curiosity was piqued—evidently she knew nothing of mediums. Florence took her bare hand, and an expression of alarm passed over her features, which she quickly controlled.

"I have to distract Florence and convince to come to us," she told Vanessa softly, "That will not be easy, she loves an audience." She signaled the medium who, with great reluctance, left her place and joined them.

"Be careful of her, dear, I do not know what she is, but I know what I think she was. She should not be walking this earth, or any of the spheres. I have encountered nothing like her before. There is a great malice in her, and a hatred for all things living. If I thought such a thing possible, I would say that she is a creature like Mary Shelley's. The young man with her was quite distraught when I did her reading—he is hiding something, too." She kissed them both before hurrying back to her table, "Be careful, for I do not think that either one of you is safe."


	12. The Bloody Rain

Vanessa and Penelope watched as Florence left in a flourish of rustling silk skirt. "Oh, how I hate being right," Penelope murmured, only half in jest, "I would have attempted to stop Dorian from having this party, only I knew it would have done no good. All that's coming from this is learning things which I already knew, but still have no idea what I can do about them."

Vanessa squeezed the hand that held hers. "Forewarned is fore armed, is it not? Before I met Lily, Victor sought my help in picking out clothes for her, his cousin was coming to visit he said. I thought it odd, but gave it no thought. I had no idea that you and Victor were connected. The good doctor has been of great help to Sir Malcolm and myself." She did not mention the vampires.

"My brother and I are the family outcasts, but we are considered normal compared to him. What sort of person obtains a medical degree, but does not pursue a living? Losing his parents had a profound effect on him, but this? What he has done is against the laws of nature. 'The Post Modern Prometheus' should never have been created. And I know no one who knows anything about this, how to destroy her if she can be destroyed." She turned to look at Vanessa, "And Dorian is dancing with her again, I must put a stop to this." She patted Vanessa's hand and rose to confront the pair, then sat down again. "Not yet," she whispered.

Vanessa envied Penelope's lack of fear. She seemed to possess a sense of herself that she lacked, and wore it like an armor as she navigated her world. Was there a demon inside her that she had conquered? What did she confront as she did her work as a medium? Had she ever battled to wrest her soul away from a spirit that had tried to inhabit her mind and body? What would Penelope do with the demon she herself battled—would she be the victor?

Penelope watched as Dorian danced with Lily. She squeezed Vanessa's hand, saying, "Well, the one thing I can do right now is to break that up. I don't like Victor dancing with that creature." She looked at Vanessa, "Will you be all right?"

"Of course, by all means go and re-claim him. I'm just going to rest for a minute. I may leave, but I will tell you before I do." Penelope kissed her, and cut across the room through the dancers, determined that Lily was dancing her last dance with Dorian.

As she wove her way through the room, Penelope cast a glance at Vanessa—something did not seem right. She was going to turn around when she saw Hecate standing at the edge of the dance floor. A bolt of energy flowed throw her, and she saw Hecate smiling—she answered by doing the same and smiled when Hecate lost her footing and almost fell.

The room was growing hazy, but she pushed it down. Oh no, she thought, you don't want to get into a duel with me, especially with all these people around. She looked up at Hecate, do you really want to fight me? Didn't your mother tell you I'm dangerous."

She saw Hecate glance off to her right, and the two other sisters, the night comers, stood, staring at Vanessa. Oh my god, no, Vanessa, she thought, but she was too late. Vanessa was standing, swaying on her feet, trying to make her way through the crowd. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and pushing people out of the way, she ran to her side, grabbing hold of her as she fell.

Vanessa, what's wrong, she thought, tell me. She took Vanessa's cold hand in hers, then put her other on her forehead, trying to see what Vanessa was seeing. Come on, come on, she begged silently, I can't help unless I know.

What she saw made her almost drop her hand. Blood, blood raining all over Dorian's drawing room. All over the people, all over the furniture, bloody rain everywhere. She Vanessa as Victor and Professor Lyles came over. Victor lifted Vanessa and carried her out of the room.

"Take her home," instructed Penelope, "But I'm coming with her. I know whose fault this is, and I'll deal with her later." She grabbed Vanessa's wrap and her fur cape. They put her in the carriage, and wrapped the robes tightly around her. Vanessa's face had relaxed, the vision must have left her, but there was no way Penelope would leave her alone.

"I can take care of her, Victor," she told him, but you had best try to undo the damage the night has done with your creature. I'm going to deal with you later, but let me warn you, you have no idea what you've unleashed. And if you don't understand what I mean, you will. You have played with forces far beyond you, and you'll pay for it."

The carriage took off. "What are you talking about, my dear?" the professor asked her.

"Something I cannot reveal, but my cousin knows. Tell me," she leaned forward and put his face close to yours, "What hold does she have over you—and don't lie. Our Madame Kali is making mischief, deadly mischief. If I could get into her castle I could perhaps find out, but I will not go anywhere near it. She is deadly, you have no idea."

"Oh yes, I do, my dear, more than you think. Maybe even more than you can guess. I did not know anyone could fight her."

"I can, but it takes a great deal out of me. Her greed is her downfall, her magic will fail her. All I can do is to try to save her victims. She would make Vanessa one if she could, but I will not allow it."

The carriage had pulled up in front of Grundage Place. Penelope had Sir Lyle carry Vanessa up to her room, and then instructed him to leave. "I do not need you now, my friend, but I promise to tell her that you were of great help."

Vanessa said nothing, but meekly allowed Penelope to help her out of her gown and into a nightgown. Penelope kissed her, and said, "You're all right now, I'm going to stay here so nothing can hurt you. They have no power over me, you're safe. Go to sleep, a dreamless sleep, and all your problems will disappear on the morrow."

She sat in Vanessa's room, watching and listening. There were contradictions to Vanessa that she did not understand. Vanessa was strong, yet she was vulnerable to psychic attacks. The magic of the Night Comers, the three sisters, was not all that complicated, but they must have found a thread in Vanessa's mind that had allowed them to slip through. Perhaps the fault was hers, she had not expected them, therefore she had not been able to warn Vanessa and tell her how to ward them off. Well, now they were powerless, at least while she was here.

Lord, she was tired, she wanted to sleep yet she dare not. Vanessa slept peacefully, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She sat and thought, keeping her mind busy so that she could stay awake. Tomorrow she would remove her things from Dorian's and move back to her flat. She had stayed there far too long, and she could feel the momentum of things that were to happen. Victor's cousin seem to hold an attraction for him, and she had no intention of being anywhere near Dorian if she decided to leave Victor Frankenstein and claim him instead. One thing she knew for sure, she intended to visit Victor and demand an explanation. What had he been doing, did he know the danger he was courting.

She sat in silence for a moment, then heard a sound she thought she would never hear again. She looked at Vanessa, then left the room and ran downstairs where the sounds were louder. She could hear now, the sounds of chains, the roars, the cry of a man in fear of his life.

"God, no," she moaned, and headed to the basement. The sounds were now louder, clearer and she knew what it was. "Sembene, Sembene," she called out, but he did not answer. She sank to the floor, saying, "Oh Ethan, what have you done? Why did you not come to me?" Then, remembering Vanessa, she ran back upstairs and entering her room, she locked the door behind her.

Could a door block a werewolf? How strong was Ethan when he was transformed? Had he hurt Sembene? If she harmed one hair of his head, she was going to kill him. She'd heard chains, the sound of struggles, please god, she thought, let it be enough to restrain him, don't let him hurt someone. It was the beast within that killed, not Ethan.

Finally, out of exhaustion, she fell asleep and did not waken until the morning light streamed into the window. She stood up and went to check Vanessa, thank god she was still sleeping soundly. She was exhausted, moving from Dorian's would have to wait until tomorrow. She was going to have her made undress her, then she would sleep until evening. Dorian was a late riser, so she would not have to worry about being disturbed.

Where was Sir Malcolm? She suspected that he was under Evelyn's spell. She wished that Vanessa were stronger, that they could truly be coven sisters. She was so tired, mortally tired, she had spent too much time taking care of others, saving none for herself.

She went downstairs to inquire about the carriage when she heard the basement door open. Sembene emerged, black shadows under his eyes.

"Sembene, don't ever do that again. Chain him if you must, but don't stay with him, he could kill you and he'd never forgive himself. Is he asleep?" Sembene nodded. "I'll take care of him. Vanessa needs your help and I'll need the carriage or a hack so I can go home."

When Ethan woke, he saw her sitting there, watching him. She took the key Sembene had given her and freed him from his chains, then slapped him across the face with all the force she could muster.

"What the hell were you doing?" she asked, not caring if the others heard, "What in god's name possessed you to do this? You could have killed him, Ethan, you wouldn't have wanted to but that is what would have happened. There are all sorts of dark and deserted places in London, I could have taken care of you before the ball and fetched you in the morning. What in the world made you do this?"

He took her roughly in his arms and kissed her, "It's nice to see you too, Penelope."

She relaxed a moment in his arms, his kiss meant nothing and both knew it, but at the same time felt right. "Why did you do this, Ethan, I don't understand."

"I guess, I suppose, I just wanted someone to know," he shrugged his broad shoulders, but his answer was not good enough, and he knew it.

"I know, Ethan, I've never seen but I know. In spite of our estrangement, all you had to do was ask, and I would have helped you. There are monsters in this world, unwilling monsters, who have to live in the shadows because they have no choice. Many are alone, but there are many that aren't. You are not alone, Ethan, and it makes me angry that you think so. You know I can help you, and I will, you simply have to abandon your pride and ask."

"What would Dorian Grey have to say about it?"

"He has nothing to say about it, Ethan, and I'm moving out again. Dorian is beginning a dangerous game and I want no part of it. I'm tired of him again, a little Dorian goes a long way. Now please, promise me you will not risk someone's life again. When the full moon comes around, you come to me and let me keep you safe."


End file.
